Pitch Black World
by Skyress1
Summary: Just a collection of stories featuring Pitch Black. Ratings of stories vary, mostly stay around a T-rating. This is not always completely canon. I do not own Pitch Black.
1. Why the Boogeyman Avoids Bars (And Pubs)

**A Pitch Black World**

 _Having written quite a few one shots already, I've decided that perhaps I should just put them all together. There's no need to delude people into thinking that I've written more than I really have. Most of these are short and simply for the fun of it. Their role in whatever universe I may intend to create is yet to be decided, if it is even significant enough to be considered. They are mostly written for simple entertainment._

 _None of these really connect to the other stories, even when they contain the same characters, so there's no need to read these stories in order._

 _Feel free to suggest stories, but know that I am busy. There will be stories I will not do, most because there are a lot of pairings I just don't agree with, but it's still worth a shot to ask, isn't it? I don't bite. Maybe._

 _As mentioned before, I certainly do not own the number one enemy of the Guardians, Pitch Black. Whilst the stories here mostly revolve around him or involve him in some way, he is technically the property - which sounds weird when you spend so long writing about a character to the point where you might as well be thinking of them as a living, breathing being - of DreamWorks and William Joyce. This Pitch, may have a different personality from the one in the original source material, but I've decided to take some creative liberties. Well, creative..._

 _Anyway, with that out of the way, please enjoy (and possibly review?)._

 **Why Boogeymen Avoid Bars (And Pubs)**

 **Rating: T, just in case.**

Pitch hadn't intended to go to the bar. Not _really_. As shocking as this may sound, when it comes to a spirit with an English infliction to his voice and an old-fashioned robe to the boot, Pitch Black scarcely even went _near_ alcohol. For him that was a no-no. He had his reasons, of course. First of all, he had to keep in mind what his purpose was. He ought to be the one who creates the fear of alcohol, not the one who drinks it, because secondly it has very severe consequences. Not just hangovers... though from Pitch's experience, those were something necessary to avoid.

So why was he in the bar, you may ask? Well, first, it was really more of a pub. An Irish Pub, thank you very much. O'Riley's Good Ole' Traditional Pub, situated somewhere in North Ireland. The boogeyman didn't bother checking for the exact coordinates. It wasn't necessary. However, being weak, he assumed that one of the easiest ways to access fear - apart from scaring young children, which proved unsuccessful some 85 and a half days ago - was to scare drunk men. After all, intoxicated males were likely to believe _anything_.

Anyway. As he sat on one of the stools, tapping his fingers against the table, thinking of ways to scare the drunkards that decided to isolate themselves from the outside world through drinks and folklore here in the dimly-lit hell-hole of a place; his eyes strayed from the table to the stage. Yes, this pub, wasn't just any pub. It was a premium pub. One of those with... entertainment. Not just boulder-headed men speaking of tales about sirens who drowned men under the surface of the sea. Real entertainment. This one came in the form of a band. And yes, it was an _Irish_ band. If you must know.

For the first few minutes, the music was an ear-aching symphony of badly written bag-pipe music. Whilst it may have been considered a waste of time, it did give him a few inspirations. Namely on how to re-programme his nightmares to scare the living daylights out of the brats that cost him his power and dignity.

The second part of that evening, though... now that part was _truly_ entertaining. Perhaps it was because the inhalation of partly evaporated rum might have caused a slight intoxication despite the fact that Pitch had never actually drank it, or it might have been the fault of his insubordinate body that he had no control over despite all those centuries of existence, but his gaze seemed to be drawn to a very fascinating young female. Now, if you are going to chastise the boogeyman for his preferences, know she was mature enough to be around men (at least in his eyes) and that if you were thinking she would be far too young for him you would have to deal with the fact that most if not all females in the world were far too young for him. Not that he received any weird looks from those around him. Might have had something to do with the fact that he was _invisible_.

Back to the female. She was a rather wild looking female, what with her fiery red hair that fell down in waves and her blue-green eyes, and so nothing short of intriguing. Though, the most interesting thing about her was her skill. Unlike her screeching, unskilled, amateur colleagues, this young lady could actually play. The fiddle. Yes, she could play the fiddle.

The rhythm of the music had its effects on him (and the other men around him... though they were far too drunk by then to know the difference between terrible music and actual talent either way), moving him. Not very subtly either. He soon found himself fighting off the urge to dance with the occasional sway of his body and tap of his feet and his hands. Soon enough, he stood up and once he reached a free spot, began to move. Dance. It wasn't easy; what with all the tipsy lads in the bar, pushing one another and attempting something akin to a jig, making it harder for him to do so much as a spin or a twirl. Still, it was worth it. He had never felt so free and content, with the exception of those times he had spent scaring children half-to-death.

That all changed when the fiddler decided to cease her musical masterpiece, drowning him in disappointment. It wasn't helped by the men pushing a stool over, which sent to boogeyman to the ground, regrettably enough.

Too cheery they were to scare now, laughing and patting one another on the shoulder like old friends. He huffed, settling back down at the table, deciding to sit out the rest of the dances. With them all acting so chummy, the unpleasant memory of being defeated by the Guardians not so long ago was brought back. Oh, it definitely had its effects on his attitude. He couldn't help but occasionally transfer the odd jug of ''black stuff'' (Guinness, if you must know) a few metres to the right. Sometimes, it would make one or two of the males look around in panic, wondering what had taken their beer. He gained great amusement in watching them beat one another up, assuming one had tried to rob the other of their beer. Such primitive behaviour.

"Say, Shadow... whatcha' doin' here?" a slurred voice suddenly asked him. It sounded very familiar. Too joyous to be one of the voices of the battling humans.

Turning around, he noticed a well-known spirit of fun sitting there and despite the spirit's human form situating itself before his eyes, it was still very much Frost. You couldn't forget that cheeky grin, with all those irritatingly, perfect, white ivories gleaming under the dim lights.

Pitch rolled his eyes. "Why are you here, Frost? Came here to gloat?" he sniped.

"N...nah..." the boy drawled, letting out a hiccup. He played around with his pint of rum, pushing it around the table. "I jus' came to see what's up with you... y'know... since the time in," another hiccup popped out of his mouth, "Antarctica." And another hiccup.

Pitch sighed. Why? Of all spirits?! Did he have to get stuck with this ignorant imbecile stuck in a teenage body. "Oh, bloody spill the beans already."

Jack let out a giggle. No a very manly one either, mind you. Pitch flinched at that, creeped out. "I would... Pitch-y..." he began rather coquettishly. Now the dark spirit had to try an stifle another roll of the eyes. For god's sake. Why was the damn ice prat's voice so darn cheery?! More to the point, how did he even...? "Come on... *hic* that's dirty, even for you..."

Looking up to the ceiling, Pitch took in a sharp breath, pinching the bridge of his voice. Oh, for the love of darkness. "Can you not act like an adult for _once_?"

The younger sprite laughed, even that sound seeming utterly fluthered. "Oh... Shady. You're too *hic* funny! I'm a teenager!"

"You are over some bloody three centuries old. Act like it," he grumbled back at Jack, glaring daggers at the boy.

"Hehe... yeah... I forgot about *hic* that. Funny how you forget those things so easily," the ice creature slurred, with a cheesy smile. Was this supposed to be some bad joke? Pitch didn't know- no, he didn't _want_ to know.

In the end, the dark spirit thought it wiser to remove any possible container of alcoholic substances out of close proximity of the winter spirit. However, as he reached out to grab the glass, something cool grasped his hand. The winter spirit's cold fingers wrapped around his own, pulling them closer to him.

"Aw... don't ruin the fun Pitch," Jack protested with a playful tone of voice. Shuddering, the boogeyman gagged inwardly at the sugary sweetness in the spirits voice.

The younger male reached out his other hand, trying to bring a squirming Pitch closer to him, until they were almost chest to chest. The taller male backed away, but was immediately stopped by Jack's roaming hand that seemed to crawl up his spine. Pitch gasped, confused. His eyes widened. Just what was happening? What was Jack trying to-

Though before he could think of the answer, the teenage spirit leaned in, pressing his lips against Pitch's in a sloppy kiss. And no matter how much Pitch tried to pull away, Jack held him firmly in place. Where had his strength gone?! How dare it leave him when this brat was so rudely intruding his personal space, demanding a kiss?! Especially since Frost turned out to be absolutely terrible at kissing. Far too pushy too.

He attempt to pull away, but his chest was soon pressed to Jack's instead, as the younger spirit tried to pry his lips apart. Trying not to seem weak, he suppressed his whimpers, before trying to shove Jack away instead.

Though instead of falling back, Jack just pulled away, smirking at Pitch. "Wanna touch me so badly?" he teased.

Hell no! Pitch glowered at Jack. "Go to hell, Jack," he retorted in a vile temper. He only received a grin.

"You know you liked that *hic*," his nemesis commented. That smug bastard. For the record, Jack's breath stank. As Jack finally loosened his grip, Pitch turned on his heel, walking off with a huff. He had had enough of this goddamned place and he was more than wiling to file a harassment charge-

He hit something solid. 'Probably another wall,' he thought bitterly, as he groaned, before looking up. Much to his shock, he was met with the apologetic gaze of a young female. Or rather, _the_ young female. The one from earlier. His fiddle player. Well, not yet his. Wait... he had bumped into her? A _human!_  
 _  
_"Sorry for that, sir," she quickly began apologising.

"No, that's- wait... you can see me?" he inquired, tilting his head to the side.

"Sure can," the female nodded.

"Y-you... " No, she couldn't possibly believe in him. She must have been some anomaly. Or perhaps he had died from the frost brat's kiss of death. "What is your name, girl?" he asked cautiously, observing her.

The female blushed, looking down at the floor, avoiding his gaze with a momentary meekness. Though her voice didn't falter. "The name's Emery," she answered. "And you? What's yer name?"

Stunned and at a loss for words, Pitch took a moment to go over his puzzled thoughts. Was it possible that she was really an anomaly? That she could see him without belief? 'Emery. The name strangely fits her...' he thought, feeling a little dazed. A little happy. Hopeful. He was no longer invisible. Not to her, at least.

"M-my name is Pitch. Pitch Black. The Nightmare King at your service," he introduced himself with a bow and a polite smile.

She looked back up now, through her amber waves of hair. "Nightmare King?" she repeated after him.

"The one and only," he added, proudly. His golden-silver eyes shone with light now. He was talking to a mortal. A human who could not only see him. She could hear him too! She could speak to him. And he to her. It was like Halloween had just come early! Every thought in his head buzzed in acknowledgement of this.

"Hmm..." the red-head placed her hand on her hips, her gaze trailing down Pitch's figure, before reaching his golden-silver eyes. "What is a 'king' like yerself doing at a place like this? Kissin' up drunk teenagers?"

He stared at her, aghast. "I-I wasn't-"

"Oh, but it's alright. Yer preference doesn't bother me. Ye wouldn' be the only male in this bar that's a homosexual," Emery assured him in a friendly tone of voice. Wait, what?! She actually believed he and Jack were a- "The two of ye make a cute couple."

His face paled considerably.

"What's wrong- I didn't mean to make you feel embarrassed-"

"No!" he snapped, making her freeze. "I am not gay!"

She smiled teasingly. "As I said, it's alright tae be gay..."

"I don't kiss males! He kissed me, for your information!" Pitch exclaimed rather rashly, though he responded far too quickly and only realised far too late that he had done so.

"Mhm... sure ye are."

"Fine! If you want proof then I will gladly-" then he pulled her into his arm, before leaning down to kiss her. Feeling the fire on her lips burn his very being, he deepened the kiss. Oh, he wasn't afraid to get burned. Not at all. Hearing her gasps against his lips, he continued kissing her for some time watching through half-lidded eyes as she closed her eyes in pleasure, leaning backwards, letting him to kiss her on. One of his hands strayed to her face, reached out to brush away a few strands of her soft, amber and ruby coloured hair. Then, he pulled away, taking a deep breath. As she opened his eyes, surprised, he traced his tongue over his lips -"prove it to you," he breathed out.

His hand fell off her body, as he focused on her eyes instead of her lips. As enticing as the thought of kissing her again was...

As Emery's chest rose and fell, she looked up to him. "A kiss proves nothin'," she uttered resolutely, though her voice was faint.

Pitch smirked. Oh, he had plenty of ways of proving his sexual orientation to this girl. And his overwhelming persistence. "I'm sure I'll be able to convince you... if you let me," he said smoothly.

She grinned. "Then I'll just have to take up yer offer, sir," she replied innocently, before taking him by the hand. Before he knew it, he was pulled into a dance, sending him reeling. Breathless, he soon relaxed, enjoying the dance.

It looked like his fiddle-player was one minx of a girl.

And he most definitely learned his lesson about Irish pubs. Or any pub for that matter. Don't trust them. Especially if their a certain winter spirit's favourite.

* * *

 **A/N - I have nothing against homosexuals or Irish people. I just figured that mistakes were funny sometimes and that it just so happened to be fitting for this one-shot to be set in an Irish pub. As for bag-pipe music... it's awful for the most part. It just is.**

 **Also, side note: You can't prove your sexual orientation with actions. The fact that you're trying to prove you are something actually suggests that you are not what you are trying to convince them you are. Pitch is just being a bit of a dolt in this story.**


	2. In Your Wildest Dreams

**Pitch Black World**

 **In Your Wildest Dreams**

 **Rated T, just in case.**

 _In which Emery, an O.C of mine from the previous chapter, has her existence acknowledged by the Guardians, leading to conflict between Pitch and Sandy._

* * *

Her gaze slowly drifted upwards from the hands that were placed firmly onto the tree branches, through the lush green leaves up at the bright canvas of evening colours. Longingly she followed the bright golden jewel as it slowly dropped beneath the horizon, bathing the hilltops with its gentle light. Occasionally a breeze would distort the serene image just for a moment, the leaves rustling in front of her green and blue eyes. It would mess up her fiery locks and the skirts of her dark green dress too, like a mischievous child. Though, she wouldn't mind it terribly – she never had.

Only occasionally would she blink, her expression betraying the memory induced trance that she had gotten herself into.

Oh, it had been so long since she had felt at peace. Strange how the most chaotic thing in her life made her feel most at ease. Stormed in like a hurricane and left wrecked homes and torn up emotions, as though she had been made of cards. She ought to have been used to it by now, really.

A flock of birds past by, obscuring her vision of the sun. The silhouettes of their graceful bodies practically floating in the air did not made her smile. Her hands trembled in response as she gripped the tree under her with more strength, as if afraid that it too would suddenly disappear. To any other female their magnificent aerial acrobatics would have put a smile on her face. To her it was just another cruel memory. How could a moment so perfect simply dissipate into thin air?

Of course, it hadn't been just the one moment. Their were many. Which only made it worse.

Shutting her eyes, she took in a deep breath. Perhaps it was time to face the reality. No male looking for a serious relationship would go away for a year and not give a single hint of where he was going. Not a friend, a lover... heck, even enemies wouldn't evaporate from the surface of Earth. Even if they were different. Even if said 'different' male was a spirit.

Jack Frost had visited her more often in that one year than the one she was pinning for. So why did she bother? After all, he never even gave her a warning. Valentines day was by far the worst though. Before that Christmas and New Years was a shocking enough set of hours, passing by so slowly. Before his disappearance, he had never failed to visit at least twice a week. At times several days in a row. Before that...

" _Will you remember me?"_

" _Of course I will darling, how could I ever forget you?"_

 _His words had sounded so believable back then. So deep and loving. She almost couldn't stand it back then, new to this whole 'love' thing. If you could have called it that._

" _Really? Even if a certain spirit of winter spiked your drink with an amnesia potion?"_

 _He had chuckled at that, shaking his head. "Even if he did. I would never truly be able to forget you. I would always remember at least a part of you."_

 _'How sappy...' she had thought back then. Still, she couldn't help but feel flattered. "So, what would you remember me most by?" she asked with a coy smile._

" _Hmm, let me think," tracing her figure with a fond look in his golden silver eyes, he leaned in to whisper in her ears. She could remember the fire and ice that spread through her body all at once. And though it was a shocking discovery at first, his way with words slowly stopped being surprising. It was a part of him. A part of him she missed even now. "Your smile, your eyes, the way you seem so wild and free," he began slowly listing each thing. "But most of all, the passion in your heart and in your eyes. No one could miss it. Much less forget the fire within you, Fiammetta."_

 _Little flame. Little fiery one. A flickering flame. He always managed to tease her with that charming little nickname in one way or another._

 _Startled by his kisses, she had pushed him away the first time, still unaccustomed. "Smooth talker," she scoffed, but it was not in a cold voice. A deep, rich laugh resonated from him, as his long elegant fingers dropped to her shoulders._

" _Really? I never would have thought."_

 _Elbowing him playfully, she too laughed. Oh, how much fun they had had. The joy her dark friend and soulmate had brought._

 _Soulmate..._

 _If he truly had been..._

Then why wasn't he here now?

The celestial goddess had hidden her joyful rays beneath the earth once she had finally opened her eyes to the reality. A cool draft of air snapped her from her thoughts as she looked up to the glittering, silver moon which now took the sun's place.

The sudden urge to wrap her hands around herself could not be entirely dismissed for nothing else was there to accompany her. Her pupils narrowed at the treacherous sphere of frigid light. To her he was the traitor; he stole the one she cared for away from her. She'd heard tales of him of course. Tales of how he protected the brats who made her life miserable, yet left her all alone, with no love to heal her heart and no companion to share the unforgivingly cold nights with. How he'd cast out her dear one time and time again. So blatantly ignored those who didn't fit within his vision of perfection and grandeur. How she wished the thief which resided upon the moon would vanish once and for all. She could swear it was his doing.

However, was there any use to it?

Climbing off the tree, reluctantly returning to shelter her in a place she could never call home, she felt as though a part of her would forever stay here. In the past.

"Hey, been singing to your invisible lover 'gain, Ems?" a voice taunted as soon as she opened the door. Her... housemate, you could say... was no different to the other folk. A smirk crossed the brunette's face.

Emery said nothing; it was better that way. She had given up that argument months ago. To everyone else, he would just remain non-existent. Skipped the very thought of dinner too, and not because she dreaded the thought of cooking. No, it wasn't so bad. At least it kept her busy. Though she was far too tired. It wasn't uncommon these days. Tiredness seemed to take over her brain so easily these days.

The sparsely decorated room that awaited her seemed almost welcoming now, if it weren't for all the cracks in the ceiling. Never mind that. So long as her fiddle stayed safe. If it had been months since the beautiful instrument had been used, dust covering its black case.

She walked only a few feet further, flopping lazily onto the bed. The mattress was obviously old, but as long as she could fall asleep.

 _Tick._

The clock just behind her, a few feet above her head now forced its irritating sounds into her mind, not letting her go.

 _Tock._

To forget. To sleep. That was all she needed.

 _Tick._

Her eyes hurt, as she strained to make out the cracks in the dim light.

 _Tock._

Not to mention they reminded her of giant spiders. Now, she wasn't petrified of them. Though, she wasn't fond of them either. Then again, most people weren't. If so many people feared them, she couldn't have been a coward, could she?

 _Tick!_

Sighing, she grabbed the pillow from the edge of her bed, pulling it over her head, trying to keep out the sound.

And finally she made it into the land of dreams.

 _Will you remember me?_

 _The dark void within her subconsciousness was disturbed by a ray of bright light, the soft glow of the evening sun almost blinding her at first. She had been left to her memories again. Not on the tree now._

 _She stood at the top of one of the hills in the distance, a few cherry trees surrounding her. The blossoms danced in the summer breeze, forming rings of rose pink and ivory white around her._

 _A white, simple dress adorned her pale figure. Her hair waved freely in the wind, the same wind that gave a rosy tint to her cheeks. She was sure she could sense the warmth of the figure behind her. This couldn't possibly be a dream. It felt so, so real. He felt real._

 _Arms wrapped protectively around her, she could hear the rhythm of his heart._

" _Say you'll see me again, Pitch," she pleaded the male behind her, turning around. Even then, way back then, her heart and mind were filled with so many doubts. This wasn't a fairy tale. What of the happy ending? That didn't happen in real life._

" _Even if it's just in your wildest dreams?" a teasing voice answered._

" _Not funny," she retorted with a pout._

 _He only grinned, leaning down to kiss her. As they parted – much to her regret – he looked into her eyes. His beautiful eyes seemed to peer right into her soul. Chilling her and comforting her at the same time. "I will always try and see you again. They'll have to kill me before they can stop me from seeing you, my little flame."_

 _The words brought both joy and fear to her, clutching onto her heart._

" _K-kill you?" she asked, hesitantly._

 _Though, he didn't seem to have heard her. Instead, there was only his smile to assure her, but even that slowly vanished. Before she knew, the ground beneath Pitch transformed into a million black butterflies, that immediately ascended into the air, forming a whirlwind of jet black wings. They embraced the boogeyman, before vanishing. And once they disappeared..._

… _he was gone too._

 _Staring in disbelief, hurt and anguish, she pressed a hand to her chest, looking away, into the sunset. He'd disappeared. Again. Only to leave her alone._

 _Would she ever hear his voice? Feel his gentle caress?_

 _'Say you'll remember me,_

 _standing in a nice dress,_

 _staring at the sunset._

 _Red lips and rose cheeks._

 _Say you'll see me again, even if it's just pretend._

* * *

" _Say you'll see me again."_

The voice came to his mind, as he stood up, his ragged form adorned in torn clothes. The deep longing sensation within his heart had been boring into his chest for several nights now, disallowing him sleep. Though, sleep in the sense of relaxing was scarcely possible in the first place. Since his defeat...

And it had been so long...

What had he done...?

Looking up to the ceiling of his crumbling lair, he wished for a moment that he could be with her. But would _she_ remember him?

He could only pray that she had held onto her faith and her feelings for him, as he finally managed to escape the confines of his lair, his will forcing him on. Fear may have been the key to his survival. But it wasn't the key to his heart.

He needed to see her.

And it was all the worse to see Sandman beat him to her. The sack of sand was standing there, his grubby little fingers so close to his precious Emery. The sand tainting her memory and messing with her emotions.

Like a fool, he stood still in the shadows, unmoving. It was like a knife through his heart. A dagger in the back. After so much humiliation.

His enemy now seemed so close to Emery. It was the golden man, the silent one, the one who worked with the treacherous man in the moon, who now influenced her dreams. It was he close to her. It would always be him who would know her dreams. How else could it be. For the monster that Pitch was could only know her fears. Her _nightmares_.

The realisation distressed him. He ought to have been proud.

And then came Sandman's gasp. Now, the little man never made a sound before. For a good reason too. Man in the Moon had rendered him mute for the _good_ of the children. That ignoramus fool.

It was nothing short of uncalled for.

Looking quizzically at Sanderson, who had averted his gaze towards Pitch, as if he knew where the shadow had hidden – though Pitch believed otherwise, wishing to spare the last bits of his dignity and pride – he found himself baffled.

Raising a hand in the air, without much anger within his gaze, Sanderson began to write with his golden sand.

" _How? How is it that she dreams..."_

Pitch glared at Sandy. "You think me a fool! What else would _anyone_ do in your presence?"

Now Sandy _did_ in fact glare at the former nightmare king.

" _No, I know that. Tell me why she dreams about you."_

Outrightly gawking at the little man, Pitch seemed absolutely starstruck. "W-what...?"

Sandy rolled his eyes. _"You aren't blind Pitch. I am sure you've seen what I have written."_ Then, he crossed his arms against his chest. And in the quietest, softest voice he could muster, he finally spoke. "If you doubt me, Kozmotis Pitchner, see for yourself."

The commotion of emotions seemed to wreck havoc in his mind as he scrabbled for some logical explanation to all of this. Sanderson, speaking? Sanderson letting him closer to a child? Kozmotis... but that was his... former name. He no longer was Kozmotis. Managing a stiff nod, the taller man stepped up to the sleeping human, taking care not to disrupt her dreams.

And what a shock it was. To see what he saw. The joy that came to his heart. The sorrow and guilt that followed. Until he could no longer watch, as the memory of the creature so close to his heart, was too much to bear.

Though as he turned away, the dream seemed to fall apart. Before simply vanishing. The specks of golden sand, no where to be found.

"It would be best if she forgot me."

"Oh, I'd agree there, ya bugger." Pitch froze. But how- Bunny didn't care about dreams, he had- who could have...

He looked over to Sandy. The little man shook his head.

" _I can't allow you this. I can't allow you her. I'm sure you know that by know."_

"I-If this is about the teeth and the children-"

" _No. This is about much more. You've already created bias within her mind and anger at us. I can't allow you to be with her. To ruin her. You know the rules. Go be with your fearlings. And leave humanity alone. Leave her alone. Leave her to forget. Or we'll help you leave."_

He sneered at the two Guardians. "No one will be telling me when to leave. Much less who to leave."

"Oh, you will, mate," the rabbit threatened, taking out his boomerangs.

"I-I'll see her again! You can't stop me!"

" _In your wildest dreams."_

* * *

 **[A/N – I know this was most likely confusing, given the characters. But if it is possible, this story follows an alternate timeline. Wherein my O.C features before the events of Rise of the Guardians. Of course this only counts for this story, as the her real first appearance is confusingly enough after the movie. Though just to confuse you, I changed things up a bit for this story.**

 **I also apologise if this insults anyone, or upsets anyone. Especially since I painted the Guardians in a slightly darker light. And yes, I know, Pitch was and is by no means perfect. Though, neither are the Guardians and I don't see this as too far fetched. Hopefully you don't see it that way either and you have enjoyed this story.]**


	3. Chasing Butterflies

**Pitch Black World**

 **Chasing Butterflies**

 **Rated K+ - It's generally lighthearted, but even so.**

 **Genre: Poetry | Spiritual**

 _Ever wondered "why butterflies?" If so, let us dive into my version of Pitch's past in poetry form._

* * *

.

.

.

.

.

 _They flutter,_

 _flitter in the morning air,_

 _their frail wings_

 _dancing in the sky,_

 _lifting them into clouds_

 _of brightly coloured petals,_

 _letting them,_

 _for just a moment,_

 _just a few seconds,_

 _minutes,_

 _to freely fly._

.

 _As he watches them,_

 _with innocence,_

 _with childish joviality;_

 _such an insignificant scene,_

 _a beautiful triviality._

.

 _Curiosity is lit -_

 _golden, platinum and silver_

 _\- wonder alight in his eyes._

.

 _He follows the little_

 _flying beauties,_

 _running after them_

 _in hopes of flying,_

 _just like them._

.

 _Oh, how he wishes to be free,_

 _to bring joy to the world,_

 _to be something._

 _How he wishes to have wings_

 _of his own._

 _But what mere mortal,_

mere _boy,_

 _with no wings to speak of,_

 _no magic to boast,_

 _cand set foot and hand_

 _in the air?_

.

 _So he continues chasing them,_

 _those butterfly-like entities,_

 _chasing his wishes;_

 _his dreams._

 _Those little things,_

 _which give hope and birth_

 _to greater goals._

.

 _Yet, he trips up,_

 _on his own foolishness,_

 _youth pushes him down_

 _and down he falls_

 _onto the ground._

 _No mortal he knows of_

 _could ever fly._

.

 _This little_ ravanette

 _sitting on the grass,_

 _in fields of flowers_

 _and creatures free to_

 _venture through the air,_

 _he continues to watch,_

 _to patiently, curiously stare._

 _A dream of his,_

 _a joy of his,_

 _that will last._

 _This picture is forever,_

 _a memory_

 _that shall not wither_

 _or die._

.

 _A single moment of true happiness_

 _passes through his matured mind,_

 _as he is reminded of those times,_

 _of chasing dreams_

 _shaped like butterflies._

.

.

.

.

.

 **A/N - Mind you, this isn't canon. This is part of a past I've thought up, a little of Pitch's childhood and a reason for his butterfly dreams. Dreams come a lot from areas of childhood, as its then that you are probably most imaginative, or at least, they do in my opinion. On a more negative note, the chances of me ever adding to this past arc whilst keeping it mostly light-hearted and positive are near none. What to say, my mind's messed up.**


	4. To Be Royalty

**Pitch Black World**

 **To Be Royalty**

 **Rated T - Just in case**

 **Genre: Fantasy | Drama**

 **Characters: Pitch, OC**

 _What if Pitch hadn't been so wrong to call himself the Nightmare King? Oh, but fate has a sense of irony and even the sweetest bits of knowledge come with a heavy dose of bitter realisations._

* * *

Perhaps it was merely the shock that kept him silent. Staring, blinking occasionally, watching the two messengers with disbelief lighting up his gaze. Perhaps it was anger, hatred. Maybe the cynical side telling him that all of this was a cruel joke at his expense was the one in control of his body now too. He really couldn't think at that moment and looking back at it, he wouldn't be able to figure out what was behind his inability to move a single muscle for what seemed like hours. In reality though, it was only a few seconds.

After that, he finally managed to open his mouth. " _Very_ funny," he retorted in a cold voice. His left eye twitching just a little. "Now, gentlemen, if you could get the hell out of my lair, that would be deeply appreciated."

The two intruders looked amongst each other, similarly confused. Oh, they were very good at appearing innocent. Pitch really had to applaud them. And he would too, once they left the premises of the caverns in which he'd spent so long he'd forgotten what it was like to live in an actual home.

"Your highness, I think you're mistaken. This is no joke," the first of the two, shorter, with sandy hair, dressed in green exclaimed in protest. There was a look about him that radiated confusion and... disappointment? The boogeyman had no idea why he was being suddenly referred to as ''highness'', never mind why the two seemed disappointed by his response. Frost would be laughing his ass off at the little hints of anger that the older spirit was giving off as he was listening to this. If any of the Guardians would have ever called him by such a respectful title, then it would be drenched in sarcasm and followed by a mocking comment.

He really wasn't sure why it was taking these elfish clowns so long to get to the bloody punchline!

"Would we have travelled so long and so far, if it were only to mock you?" the other one, with dark, brown hair and hazel eyes challenged Pitch's scepticism. That would have been a very good question _if_ he knew where this 'far' away place was exactly. For all he knew, they might have travelled no more than ten minutes and ate a snow cone on the way, before telling themselves "you know what? Today looks like the perfect day to piss of the spirit of fear!"

Pitch rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. "Of _course_ you have. Well, apologies for taking up your time, but you're simply going to have to look for your new _king_ elsewhere," he answered sharply, having no time to listen to those two fools. He had work to do, dammit! Which of course, required complete silence and for them to be as far as humanely possible from his lair. He was sure they'd be surprised as to how far that could be. "I think you'll find that I do not fit the job description."

Another sad puppy-eyed look of hurt from the first intruder. Pitch could swear if he received one more of those he would be willing to tear someone up right here, right now. Blondie let out a sigh. "Maybe he's right, maybe we should go," the creature told his colleague, giving in.

Dark Hair seemed to be a completely different person to the one his friend was, for he merely glared at him, before taking a step closer to the spirit. Pathetically enough, he tried to stand taller, as if he were trying to be more intimidating. Almost as though he were being serious. Unimpressed, Pitch merely tapped his fingers across his other hand as he watched, waiting. If those two vaguely elfin beings didn't bugger off in the new few minutes, he would take care of them himself. He certainly wasn't having this behaviour or attitude here. There was, after all, only one fear monger. That being him and no one else. "Listen here, spirit," the elf-creature began, "I'm not sure if you have any idea of what we are, but -"

Pitch chuckled bitterly and then used one of his arms to push back the speaker. Nobody took his personal space. Unfortunately, the being was stubborn and refused to budge any further. "No, I really don't Elf Boy, and I definitely do not care to no either," he interrupted the other male's speech.

-"we are the Elvaera Draconique and you can bet it took a bloody good reason to travel all the way to Earth - of all places!" Elf Boy finished his line, gritting his teeth in annoyance.

"Oh, well done. You have even invented a lovely, overly fancy name for yourself," Pitch drawled back. He might as well annoy this brat back, if he were to suffer the boy. "And I'm supposed to care about this... why?"

"You might have noticed that, we don't exactly inhabit Earth. There aren't many of us left," Elf Boy responded with a huff, probably starting to wonder why he was even trying. Great. At least Pitch was succeeding in _something_ even if that something wasn't defeating the Guardians.

"If this is some, 'I'm an Endangered Species' crap then you're at the wrong address," Pitch dismissed him once again. "But I'm sure the World Wildlife Fund will be more than happy to help with conservation efforts for your species..."

"The last thing my _race_ needs is humanity's help."

"Oh, good. Then you definitely would be at the wrong person's doorstep, Elf," it continued between them, this snarky half-banter. "You see, I'm not human. Never was. Never will be."

Elf boy laughed bitterly. "Oh, I know that. Which is exactly why I'm bothering to suffer through your nightmarish attitude and your ignorance." That really did seem to have an affect on Pitch, because there was no way that anyone, let alone this person could have known anything about him. Mostly, it served to irk him further, because it presumably meant that someone had been digging in his past. Something which he had never consented to and would not consent to. "And after all those years of searching for you along with my brother, we really were looking for a lot more decent specimen of our race that would rule what is left of our kingdom. Alas, I think we might have made a mistake." He paused for a moment. "Tarot? You did say that there were three others out there, didn't you?" the Elvaera Draconique averted his gaze towards his colleague, who only nodded hesitantly.

Utterly befuddled, Pitch glanced between them. There was absolutely no way in darkness that he was a part of their race! He took a step back. How could he, with grey skin, golden-silver eyes and powers that he had possibly be anything like them? Even his mortal self certainly didn't seem entirely like them.

And, if for some reason he was suited to rule, then... who were those 'three others' that the elf had been talking about? Were they, related to him?

"Wait. Hold on a minute," he stopped them as they were about to turn around.

Thankfully, they halted in their movement. Turning around, Elf Boy grinned smugly, as if he'd just won. 'Tarot' was looking hopeful on the other hand, like a dog awaiting a treat. Really, he had no idea how those two suffered one another, being so different.

Pitch didn't want to sound desperate. He really didn't. But for this one time, he could afford to let go of a little portion of his pride in exchange for knowledge. He'd always wanted to know more. About anything, really. About his past? Even more so. "Tell me... _what_ am I?" the spirit enquired.

"Well, you might want to sit down if you want to know so bad," Elf Boy suggested, as though this was his home.

"I'll stand, _thank you_ ," a little snark escaped Pitch as he responded.

Elf Boy nodded, deciding against arguing with him this time. "Very well then," he responded and then began his little explanation. "But I should really start by telling you the basics of everything else. We are Elvaera Draconiques. As are you, it appears, but we'll get back to that later.

Billions of years ago, we were an expansive race that occupied dozens of different planets and kingdoms, separated into different groups. Like many other elves, our race was also ruled by a monarch in every one of those kingdoms: a leader with power, wisdom, knowledge and a love for their people. Like with humans, the crown was passed down to blood relatives, with a few rare exceptions, including those where a family of monarchs or a monarch was overthrown on the basis of being unworthy, or a down right tyrant. We ruled in peace for the most part, rarely going to war, rarely even needing weapons. We had our own abilities. And that was what terrified those of other races, other species. Particularly the inhabitants of Andromeda. A galaxy you may know," Elf Boy nodded over to Pitch.

Stiffly, the spirit nodded. He'd lived there once, a very, very long time ago. It was place filled with memories. Those better and those worse alike.

"Those on the edges of the galaxy were most hateful of our race. Feeling threatened by our longevity, intelligence and magic, they began killing us off, hunting as down. So we tried to disguise our kingdom, within hopes of keeping away people like those living in Andromeda. However, it turned out to be all for nought, as eventually, they found us all anyway. If all of us stayed and fought, you must understand, we would have been sitting ducks.

And so the queen ordered all women with children to run, to hide, into a hide out created by our ancestors thousands of years prior - a pocket of space that would only open up to very few people if you excluded the Elvaera Draconique. The king stayed and fought, but the queen too had children. Children that would be targeted for their powers. She could not afford to travel so long, or so far. These heirs she had - four of them, all boys - were the hope for a better kingdom. If they could grow up in safety and grow powerful enough, they could protect us and allow us to explore and live in the galaxy amongst all the other beings once more. You see... not all elves are born equal. It tends to be those of the royal lineage that are most powerful, most capable of defending us. But that didn't stop our king from being slaughtered in battle. And later our queen when she was protecting one of her four children. Those other three were kept elsewhere, hidden away by her maids. She died moments after successfully hiding that child in a small cottage, with a man most unsuited to care for the babe- but what could she have known? Those were desperate times after all. And you must forgive her for that, Kozmotis Avery Blake Pitchner."

Pitch gulped, turning pale suddenly. Reaching out to his neck, his hand traced a metal chain, connected to a pendant. It was more of a locket of sorts. With that very name carved out on it's sides. Beneath it was that from his daughter, but this one... this one had been from a different person altogether. Yet, until today, he could have never have thought...

No!

"This... that is not possible," Pitch responded, shaking his head in determination. He would not fall for this. "This is all a trick. You merely went through my own belongings and used my name as a part of some grand joke-" he continued breathlessly.

"Our race was slaughtered!" the dark haired Elvaera Draconique shouted. "Our grand kingdom in ruins! So few of us survived..." Tears brimmed in his eyes, and try as he might, even Pitch could not deny that this very convincing for a lie.

So convincing, it might have been the truth.

Tarot came up behind the dark haired messenger and placed a hand on his shoulder, saying something in a different language, softly uttered and soothing. He looked up to Pitch. "You don't have to believe us. But it seems so convenient that you happen to be the oldest spirit. That you have the locket the queen had given you - I know you do. That metal is neither gold, nor silver, nor platinum. And it is enchanted too, I can feel it. Enchanted by something - someone - powerful. Who else but one of us could do that?" he said. "If nothing else, you are an elf. And Elvaera Draconique. Not just a spirit."

Pitch swallowed again, before huffing. Refusing to believe that this could ever be true.

Meanwhile, Tarot rubbed the other elf's shoulder. "Lyze," he commented, "maybe we should let him think this over."

The darker haired companion of his nodded, but said nothing. Finally, he seemed to have given up. Strangely enough, Pitch didn't feel like celebrating this little victory. Instead, wordlessly, he turned around and walked off into the depths of his caverns just as the two intruders left.

The spirit tugged at the locket, feeling the chain dig into his neck. Like hell was he some royal heir! After all those years of being considered as beneath everyone, pigs would start flying before he would accept that anyone but himself would truly think him worthy of being anything more than a doormat. And he certainly wasn't a bloody elf. Let alone a supposedly rare, very powerful elf that happened to be meant for greatness, or something as ridiculous as that. This wasn't Harry Potter. This wasn't Warrior Cats. This was real life, for fuck's sake! Orphans didn't suddenly become the greatest anything of any time.

Still, he'd managed it once before. Maybe twice. Did it seem so unlikely that he could ever be any of what they had implied?

Some lost prince-ling - which was utterly laughable - with three other siblings scattered all over the known universe... if they were even still alive. How long was it that an Elvaera Draconique lived, anyway? And how was it that he'd never known about them, up until now? Even suggesting they were hid in some pocket, if they'd been searching for years...

Pitch sighed. Now that the anger had receded into confusion and melancholy, he really didn't know what to think or ask anymore.

He'd need time to think.

* * *

Pitch stepped outside of the caverns.

Already, the moon was up, its inhabitants probably laughing at him. It wouldn't surprise him if they already knew. It would surprise him even less if they had figured out the joke behind it and weren't telling him, simply because they wanted to see his expression once he realised that he'd fallen for it all like a fool. For all he knew, those blasted elves could have merely been stalling as their little friends were robbing his lair right under his nose.

Still, it made no sense. Why would they bother? What of intergalactic value was there in his lair that was so precious? In that cold, dark and dreary space, filled with echoes of screams and nightmares waiting to infiltrate one's subconsciousness there couldn't have been a treasure that had more than that sentimental value. Only bits of metal, scraps of paper, ink, cloth. A few piles of gold and money, currency for trading when in other, more human forms. Perhaps even some food, if the nightmares had decided to spoil themselves again. Anything that could gain them any more power or protection required prior knowledge of how to handle it and it certainly wasn't kept where it could be easily seen and found. He wasn't sure why they would think there was anything in that place in the first place. The entrance with the bed had vanished since his defeat by the Guardians' - or rather the children that believed in them - hands.

The spirit shook off those thoughts, before sneering at the moon.

"So is _this_ your idea of a joke? A prank at the expense of the ole' spirit of fear?" he hissed. "Is this amusing, in anyway?"

As always, the moon didn't change in anyway. Nor did Manny say anything. How typical of the Lunanoff brat. Very like his father, in that sense. Only really answered when it was convenient to him and was always a terrible leader.

Would his parents have been anything like him?

He doubted that, if they were the rulers that Tarot and Lyze had spoken, they had been anything like him. But they were dead and that had happened years ago. Billions of years ago, when the Earth had no moon and the galaxies were so much noticeably younger than they were now. When Andromeda had been plunged into a Golden Age. Possibly the very last one it would experience. Oh, and what a _Golden Age_ it was.

Clenching his teeth, he glowered a little harder at the moon. Still no answer.

"Very well then. Have it your way, old friend," Pitch added, before turning away. "But believe you me, if this is a mockery, you will regret it more than anything I have done before."

With that, he disappeared back into the blackness of his lair, greeting the creaking, swaying cages now above him with a scowl as he continued to think. If those elves still insisted that he was one of them, so be it. They would leave and he would follow. Prepared for anything that may come in his way. Should they have lead him into a trap, or lied to him, that would be their mistake to regret. They would face the consequences of their actions and he would make sure of it.

Still, there had to be some way of escaping this never ending, humiliating cycle of him fighting the Guardians and constantly losing because of a balance that didn't exist. Due to a bunch of self-righteous spirits that respected and care for no one. If it took another 4.503 billion years to achieve this, to find some place where he was welcome, then so be it. Besides, _if_ it all turned out to be true - and that was a pretty big if - then how hard could it possibly be to get used to being a real leader? What could possibly go wrong?

"Are you prepared?" a familiar voice resounded from behind him.

It appeared that Elf Boy was here again, but this time, Pitch was willing to let go of some of his earlier hostility. So he merely turned around and nodded at him. "As ready as I'll ever be," the spirit answered in all seriousness.

"Then follow me," Lyze gestured for him to come along, as he lead Pitch away. Sure, Pitch hadn't technically packed anything, but then, it couldn't be that long a journey and he was a spirit. Technically, he didn't need anything. So he simply followed the other male, and Tarot to Esterlyn. A place of magic, beauty and peace, that would seem so very different to the place where Pitch had spent so much of his life as a spirit.

* * *

 **A/N - I figured that it would be interesting if Pitch did have some connection to royalty. It wouldn't explain his attitude, behaviour and self-given title of Nightmare King, but it would explain why he is as powerful and as different as he is and how he may not be human. It also goes well with the past I thought out for him, which is a bonus.**


	5. Shadow (1)

**Shadow**

 **[December 13th, 2013]**

The day had started off like any other day.

Then, evening rolled in and things started going south. At first, it was something small. The irritating light in her room whose bulb kept flickering as she attempted to finish off her mini-project for school. Strange buzzing coming from behind the wall of her room, the one that separated her from her neighbors. She brushed it away, thinking that it was just her mind playing tricks – tiredness was the most likely culprit.

It was when that butterfly showed up – which in itself was strange, considering she had been expecting a moth instead, this late into the evening – that she began questioning the happenings inside her house.

 _'Funny, never seen a butterfly like this one,'_ Amity though, tilting her head as she observed the insect that was currently fluttering just above her head. It seemed more peoccupied in her than it was by the light, floating there. As its wings moved, she could swear the colors and patterns seemed to shift, blacks, golds, and silvers squirming out of their place and changing shape. The wings, they didn't seem solid either. Not quite.

As she stood up, squinting her eyes, the butterfly finally moved away. She drew closer, watching as it flew out of her room. It wasn't in the normal, slightly clumsy way that butterflies normally fly in; up, down, swaying and bobbing a little as they flew. No, it flew straight as if knowing exactly where it was headed.

Or perhaps it just knew where the girl would head. _'No, that isn't possible,'_ Amity swore.

Following quietly, she watched as the buttefly was swallowed by the darkness off the hallway. Still, it went on, with the swirls of lighter colours seemed to glow in the dark. Whisps of platinum illuminating the way. Not, until the very last moment, the moment where the butterfly descended into the basement, did she realise where she'd been walking. Out of her own volition, nevertheless.

You see, everyone, even an adolescent, had their own place where they would never put a foot forward. No one would ever catch Amity within feet of the basement. Not out of her own free will, no. She herself had forgetten the very reason why. You just didn't.

Now as she crept down the wooden stairs, her original expression of intrigue slowly molding into that of fear, she began to question herself about what that reason may have been. From what she could see, the stretched out, silvery spider webs that were splayed across the corners of the room, were a valid enough reason. The occasional and absolutely dreadful scuttling sounds that she could hear as she entered deeper still didn't ease her nerves. Then, of course, there was the fact that the butterfly itself seemed to have vanished.

For a moment, Amity's breath caught. Reaching for the railing, she almost jumped back when a very faint rattling sound echoed through the room. With a little more of the scuttling, one of the many terrors of the basement appeared just at the corner of her vision and she immediately let go of the wooden railing.

Appearing from one of the larger cracks in the crumbling and highly unreliable structure crawled out an arachnid. Instead of doing what any smarter teen would have done, Amity chose to go down, instead of heading back up and escaping through the basement door.

She stood now, at the bottom of the stairs, on the cold floor, eyeing the spider. Its thin legs were covered in nobs where the limbs could bend. Whenever it moved, it would make that dreadful sound, like the tail of a rattlesnake and the scuttling of a large beetle morphed together in a nightmarish mix. Its abdomen wasn't furry, like that of most larger spiders, nor was it's head. Instead, it was smooth and generally black, like a polished opal. And just like an opal, the ebony hue wasn't the only one on its body. The thin, angular body was covered in lines of silver, the same color as its web. Eight eyes, not exactly the right color, blinked at her. As if curious, the eight-legged creature came closer and as it did, she could see the knobs on its legs were actually a faded yellow (or was it gold?) color.

She gulped, surrendering a single whimper as she backed away. Crashing into a box. The rattling and scuttling grew louder.

 _'Are there more?'_ she panicked, slowly looking up.

And there were. Two of them, suspending their stick thin legs and angular bodies painted in unnatural stripes of golds, silvers or whites, just above her head.

Who cared about that butterfly anymore?! She was _so_ not staying in this araneae-infested nightmare realm. She didn't so much as blink, or breath, before taking a dash up the stairs, clambering up faster than she had ever climbed a set of stairs in her life. Once finally out, she shut the door, leaning against it as the shock dropped and the breathlessness caught up.

 _'I am not going down there again,'_ she promised to herself as she shut her eyes. She breathed in and even as she did, she could sense that she wouldn't be able to keep up to this vow.

.

.

.

 **[December 14th, 2013]**

"Amity! Can you get the milk? There's change on the table," her mother's voice called from upstairs.

It had been a day since the spider incident. And if she could, Amity would avoid any dark place where spiders could lurk. Still, there were no spiders in shops... were there? Even if there were, the little white lie would do miracles for her mental health.

Sighing, she picked up the money from the dinner table and walked outside. The cold air ruffled her hair just the slightest bit, as she walked on. Though as she reached the end of the block, her glance fell on a darkly coated feline who coincidentally – yes, that was it, it was _only_ a coincidence – decided to wander up to her block. Perhaps it was about to beg for some treats. Besides, it wasn't cats she was scared of.

Even this, coal-black specimen appeared harmless in comparison to the spiders. Sitting down, it looked at her in an inquisitive way, as though questioning her choices. Maybe it just didn't like the clothes she was wearing.

Yes, that had to be it. If she was a cat, she wouldn't like a hoodie with a pug on it anymore that this cat did. However, she wasn't a cat and therefore she had no real idea of what had made this cat criticise her so. Could cats criticise people? It seemed like it, as the cat narrowed its eyes at her. She was sure that she was glowering at the pug, but a little voice told her that there nothing wrong with the shirt. The cat was looking straight at her. Unblinking. Unmoving. For the next few seconds, they stared at one another. It was Amity who broke off the stare first.

"Weird cat," she muttered to herself. Though as she turned around, the cat proceeded to follow her.

 _'Correction: creepy cat.'_

.

.

.

 **[December 21st, 2013]**

What does a thirteen-year-old do when life begins to act oddly? What should a teenager do? Tell an adult? End up talking to a psychologist? Oh, no, no, no, no, no. Amity wasn't crazy. She wasn't insane. A nut-house.

She vaguely remembered her mother's questions from the past week or so.

" _You look tired. Did you have bad dreams?"  
_

" _Is there something in school that's troubling you?"_

" _Why don't you ever go to the basement honey?"  
_

" _Aren't you a bit old to be scared of spiders?"_

She shook her head. No, she definitely wasn't too old. There were plenty of girls in her school that were scared of spiders. School had always troubled her, but it wasn't what kept her awake. Bad dreams, that's what they were. Though her mother didn't need to know that. What would she think if Amity admitted this to her? Along with the basement and the queer cat from around the block?

It was a week now. She still hadn't been down in the basement again. Though her mother would put a stop to that.

"Amity? Could you go down to the basement for me? I need you to take a box from there. It should be titled 'Charity'," her mother asked. Amity could say no. Risking that her parent would question her avoidance of that particular room in the house.

She sighed.

 _'It's only spiders,'_ she promised herself. _'Spiders and nothing else.'_

Repeating this all the way down the stairs, hearing the faint creak, she found herself next to a pile of boxes in a few seconds flat. Squinting her eyes, she briefly chastised herself for not bringing a source of light, before looking around.

 _Scuttle._

 _Rattle._

 _Pit._

 _Pat._

 _Plop._

 _Scuttle..._

She shuddered. Not at the drops that she could hear from the outside of the house, falling against the window of the basement. The raindrops would scatter and drip down the class, pooling on the ground outside. No. That was just the rain. It was that damned scuttling. That was made her own skin crawl and itch in discomfort. Even her hair crawled at those sounds.

But the spiders weren't there. No matter how hard she looked.

 _'This is stupid,'_ she thought. _'You're stupid. You're acting like a child.'_

Her eyes landed on the books labelled 'Charity' soon enough. Relief swept through her. Now all she would have to do was carefully take it away from the pile.

She reached out. Her finger gripped the edges of the box, feeling for the thin cardboard surface.

The stairs creaked. She jumped back. There wasn't anybody on them, though. She was sure she was the only one here. Taking a step back, she pulled at the box. Somewhere in the basement, something dropped. Her grip loosened. The box fell, the content tumbling out.

Gulping, she looked around. There were steps, resounding through the room. Fast ones, rapid scampering. Rats...?

Her fingers clenched into fists. She tensed. There hadn't been any rats since...

There was a faint hiss. Then a light gurgling sound, followed by a friendly call. A reptilian call, or at least it seemed like that of a lizard. She'd heard it somewhere before. In a movie, perhaps? But she couldn't place it.

A few more boxes cascaded from another pile, dropping to the ground. She flinched as she spotted a large silhouette of something, moving in the background. It was large, with a tail, a head... and who knows how many limbs. Larger than a dog. Maybe larger than a horse, but she really couldn't tell in the dark. It turned around immediately after being caught. A pair of reptilian, golden-silver eyes peered at her from behind a stack of boxes. She could see the faint outlines of a pair of claws, scales surrounding them.

She croaked out a cry for help, before taking a step back. Tripping over one of the boxes, she fell into the pile behind her.

It closed in, the features clearing up. Definitely scaled. Massive. Slender. Two legs, two arms. She was certain there was a pair of wings tucked at its sides too. Backing away, she spotted a spider just above her. One of those from before. Gangly, alien. Terrifying.

"G-get away!" she hissed, pushing herself forward and once again fleeing the scene.

The stairs seemed a blur beneath her feet as she ran. Amity didn't even try to support herself with the treacherous railing as she fled.

Once away from both terrors, she shut the door. Gasping, she leaned against it again, this time sliding down, as she slumped against the wooden surface. Exhaling, she could feel her body tremble in fear. Whatever was in that basement, she hoped it would stay down there. Along with spiders. Along with her mother's bloody box.

.

.

.

 **[January 20th, 2014]**

The argument that came after that event was not one that Amity had won. In fact, she wound up being forced to go to the child psychiatrist that resided in the town center. For a thirteen-year-old, it was hardly pleasing. _"I'm not insane!"_ she had fought her mother, tooth and claw.

" _Maybe not, but you're going anyway. I've had just about enough!"_

In short, over the span of the next month or so, it hadn't been the last time she had been in that basement. All under the command of her mother. She'd tried to explain what she had found there, but every time, her mother would wave it off, thinking her daughter was _seeing things_. Mrs. Parker was very much insinuating that her daughter was some schizophrenic maniac and that wasn't a theory Amity would agree with.

However, the chat with the psychologist seemed to hold no answers.

" _Mrs. Parker, according to these tests, your daughter seems mental stable. A little prone to believing things, but then again, she's still a child according to the law." That was what the psychologist had been claiming. There was nothing wrong with her._

 _However, what she was suggesting to Amity herself wasn't quite as comforting._

" _Amity, do the children at your school bully you?"_

" _No, not anymore."_

" _Do you have friends?"  
_

" _A few?"_

" _Let me rephrase that: do you have any friends that are... say... a little different?"_

" _Different?"_

" _When was the last time when you brought your friends home? When did your mother meet your friends last?"  
_

" _Are... you thinking I'm crazy? That my friends are... imaginary?"_

 _She refused to answer anything after that. Amity Parker had friends alright. Real. Even if she barely trusted them. Her psychiatrist would ask her about her fears and she would stay silent. She'd then ask about dreams; if she had any nightmares. There would be the odd nod, but she would refuse to specify._

She shuddered at the thought. Even a thirteen-year-old had a powerful imagination. The picture that came to her mind at the thought of being considered crazy, wasn't a lovely one. It looked like a prison cell, all white, with barred windows and doors with locks.

Insane. She wasn't insane. A coward, maybe. Not out of her mind.

Taking a flashlight, she knew she had to prove her mother wrong. That night, she'd stepped out of her room, in her night clothes, with just a flashlight for defence. Perhaps she could snoop through a few of the boxes whilst she was in that accursed basement. Maybe she could find out why she was having nightmares. Why she heard things that her mother didn't hear. Why she saw things that she shouldn't be seeing. Because she wasn't insane. This wasn't her fault. And she wanted to know who was behind this. Who she could blame for this hell.

She made her way down those steps again, cursing the sound they made.

It was the butterfly she had spotted on that first evening that appeared in front of her now. With the very same wings, seeming to glow in the tenebrous room, fluttering gracefully in the air. It looped around her, dancing in midair as she reached the bottom of those stairs, walking down the cool ground.

With her flashlight pointed at the boxes, she ignored the butterflies antics and she searched. There had to be something from her past. If she had imaginary friends or strange fears in the past that had just resurfaced, they would be in one of those boxes. She was sure of it. Her eyes fell on a box with her name on it. It wasn't the only one, but this one was labelled "Amity, ages 10-12". It would be about that time when she would have probably had the clearest memories, her own memories. If she had been different before, if she had been bullied before, it would be in about that age, when children started to differ from one another. She used her free hand to pull out that box, placing it down on the floor.

Then, the scavenging began.

Going through her books, clothes that she no longer needed, but treasured nevertheless, she smiled a little, forgetting that she was in a dangerous place. It helped that none of the scuttling could be heard.

Her eyes soon landed on a book titled "my diary" with her own name at the top of the first page. Skimming through it, she noted the pictures, how strange they were. There were never any pictures drawn with her friends in it, not until her 11th year of life. However, there was one person that seemed to act like her companion around her, according to her notes. It was written funnily enough, in a childish scribble.

 _January 13th, 2011_

 _I am really happy that Shadow is there to help me. Today, I could have fallen out of a tree. But he saved me. But he did scare me out of in the first place. So I guess he owed me that. :)_

There was a funny little picture underneath that note, one she couldn't quite comprehend. She could recognize herself in the arms of the person, but there was something strange about this Shadow. It wasn't just his name either. He looked different. Of course, his features could have been exaggerated, but he seemed to be different from a normal human being, despite this. His eyes were strange too, different. Human, but their colour was anything but.

There would be more pictures of him and herself together, but whenever her so-called friend was smiling, it seemed as though he'd never smiled before. The expression seemed sincere enough, but not natural and the teeth weren't helping.

She shivered. Or perhaps her younger self had no idea what smiles really looked like.

Amity looked on, scanning the next few pages. Before she landed one. So she _did_ have bullies in the past. It wasn't Shadow either, though part of her had thought he ought to have been considered the bully.

 _March 5th, 2011_

 _I told Shadow about the bullies. Maybe I should have just kept silent. It was nice of him to take care of them, but the way he had said it... it seemed like he would do worse. A lot worse. I told him to go easy on them. But when I saw them the next day, they seemed scared of me._

 _I argued with Shadow about that. I'm sorry about that. It was wrong. He helped me and I tried to push him away._

 _But at least he agreed he would not give people bad dreams about flying spiders again._

 _October 7th, 2011_

 _I know my birthday is much later than this. Shadow knows it too. But he gave me this necklace anyway._

(There was a drawing of a pretty necklace with a black, silver and golden pendant hanging off of it, just beneath that section of the note.)

 _He said that I should have it now. So, I wanted to keep it. I hugged him for it too. Though he looked really surprised when I did. Like if he didn't get hugs often. Then again, he told me that he didn't have other friends aside from me. Though I don't have other friends too. Maybe that's why he protects me as much as he does._

 _Maybe I should really be more careful. Like he says I should. Anyway, I invited him to the party I was allowed to have for my birthday. Mommy says so._

 _Though, mommy also gives me a funny look whenever I tell her about Shadow. I wonder why. He is real, like the rest of us. So why does she act like he isn't there? Not that it matters. I know he's there and that's all I need to know. He's there and he'll always be my friend._

 _October 13th, 2011_

 _Shadow is angry with me. I don't know why._

 _I mean, I just befriended two girls in my class. Holly and Molly. They're really fun and they like me. So I decided to invite them to my party too. Mommy thinks they are perfect friends for me. Maybe that's why he's angry. Cause he's jealous that mom approves of them and not him._

 _I tried to tell him that they're great too! I really did._

 _November 10th, 2011_

 _Shadow told me. But I don't believe him. He said that Holly and Molly are bad friends. But they aren't! They are great friends! Better than him._

 _I can't believe that he's so jealous. Because what? Because they're girls? Because I know them better? He went so far that he even gave them nightmares! I can't believe he did that. He told me he wouldn't scare them! He promised._

 _Only bad friends break promises. How could he be so mean, so bad?_

 _I don't want to see him again. I don't want him at my party. I don't want him anywhere near me or my friends!_

 _I just want him to go away!_

 _Because he's wrong. He's nasty._

 _Maybe I should just pretend he isn't real, just like my mother said he isn't. After all, he's just as much of a bully as Harry and his group._

The pictures and all notes on this 'Shadow' of her's stopped there. Those last lines where was struck her the hardest. It was then that she remembered. Vaguely, yes, but she remembered nonetheless. She remembered being almost eleven at the time. She remembered being that little girl, next to a tall, humanoid creature who was trying to argue with her. His whole form was blurry, just like the picture had been, but he was clearly dressed in black, looking very much like a shadow.

She had pushed him away with all her force, crying that day. It should have been impossible. He was so much taller and stronger than her, with all sorts of abilities up his sleeves. Still, she had managed it, shocking even him at the strength; the resentment that she held for him.

When she looked at him at that time, he had a different expression on his face. One that had made her feel guilty, angry and upset at the same time.

She'd forgotten about him after that, as he faded out of her mind. In the end, she had invited those two 'friends' over, only to reveal to herself that they were fake, just like Shadow had said they were. It was a shock, to know that he was right all along. Though, the worst of it was that at the time, she had no one to admit this to. Shadow had been gone long before that happened. She'd never seen him once after that. She'd never remembered him after that. She had never even apologized. All she had done was continue to live in a world that didn't quite accept her, trying to blend into the crowd.

Amity flicked back, looking at the other drawings. The shadow puppets, the nightmares, everything to do with this 'Shadow' of hers.

And the more she did, the more she felt as though he had always been real. That was what scared her most, more than anything else. Her mother may not have been able to see. Yet, she knew. She knew he was there.

She froze, a cold sensation running down her back.

"Ah, so you do remember," a familiar voice came from behind her, a presence forming nearby. She knew that voice, the sound. Not quite human. Not quite monster.

Her flashlight dropped, falling onto the ground. Her fingers were suddenly numb and the air grew cold. Her hand brushed over the book, shutting it immediately, hoping to rid herself of those memories and perhaps of this presence. Though that very same hand betrayed her, reaching up to her neck, to her collar. It stroked the necklace around her neck, the pendant. Tracing the butterfly shape absentmindedly, she swallowed thickly.

"Long time no see, my dear Amity," the same voice greeted in a more ominous tone.

Turning on her heel, she met face to face with her fear. Her friend. Her foe.


	6. Shadow (2)

**Shadow**

 **Chapter 2**

" _Why is it that I don't have as many friends as other people?" the little girl asked in a small voice, kicking her legs out as the swing swayed forward. "Is... is there something wrong with me?"_

 _A soft voice chuckled. "Define wrong."_

" _D-define?"_

 _The tall figure that stood beside the swings nodded, looking at the girl with serious golden-silver eyes. "One's meaning of 'what is wrong' is different to that of another person. There's nothing necessarily wrong with you," he responded._

 _She blinked, looking down for a moment. "Then why don't the like me? Why are they mean?"_

" _Easy. They can't deal with differences."_

" _Is that why you don't have many friends?"_

 _For a moment, as if stunned by the retort, the taller figure stood there motionless. Around them, everything else seemed to stop moving. Even the wind seemed to completely cease with its activity and asides from the rusty chains that connected the swings creaking as the swing beneath the girl swung, there wasn't much sound either. For a moment, a deadly kind of silence surrounded them, like an invisible coil. It took some time for her friend to respond._

" _I don't need friends."_

* * *

Shaking, Amity took a step back.

"W-what are you doing here?" a stammer found its way out of her system. There was no reason for him to show up after two years, uninvited.

A toothy smirk appeared on his face. "Oh, you know. Spreading fear, meeting old acquaintances... the usual," he drawled out lazily. There seemed to be that disrespectful nonchalance on his face too, the one she could swear she'd seen somewhere before. "Enough about me, do tell, how were those years without my presence?"

"Puh-perfect."

He stepped closer, tilting his head to the side as he observed the female human in front of him. "Really? Holly and Molly turned out to be true to you after all? Well, colour me impressed!"

Averting her gaze, she muttered, "no. They left."

There was a hum of acknowledgement coming from the other end, as he encircled her, the height of his figure intimidating her. Though, if she were to be completely honest with herself, she likely was always a little scared by that. Along with his grey skin, golden-silver eyes, raven hair and black robe...

"You've grown," the male noted, ending the previous conversation thread there. "Would I be wrong in assuming that a lot else has changed since we've last met?"

Part of her wanted to say "oh, yeah, I got signed up to the psychologist and my mother officially gave up on me," but she didn't have the voice to do so. Besides, sassy retorts probably wouldn't enable her to escape from this tight spot. Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place. If she ran now, her mother would arrange another meeting sooner and if she didn't... wait, did the two ever talk about Shadow's diet? She definitely hoped that his diet did not consist of children and adolescents.

So instead, she only uttered a small "hmm".

"Though, I did believe you'd overcome some of the more ridiculous fears by now," he added. A gaunt hand of his slipped over her shoulder, causing her to shiver inwardly. He smirks cruelly. "I'm rather disappointed."

She silently looks at him with a pleading look.

 _Go away, please. Not now. Not today. Just go away._

Still, he ignores her. "Now what to do with you?" he asks, more himself than her. The glint in his eyes was no friendlier than it had been seconds ago. As for Amity herself, she begged her legs to listen to her and her hands to push him away. Though her heart and mind said something else. This wasn't right.

 _Running away?_

 _From your only friend?_

 _Are you really so cruel?_

 _What will your mother think of her cowardly daughter?_

She can only stare straight ahead though, not quite peering into his eyes. It continues too, for several seconds. Almost a minute. Before the slyly jovial light in the spirit's pupils dies down slowly but surely and his gaze sinks to the ground. He frowns, breaks off the grasp and takes a step back, much to her surprise. It was never like him to back away from a fight, and why should he?

* * *

Whilst it may shock some people, Pitch wasn't entirely used to coming into another person's home uninvited. Not to a home of someone he knew. But he had to see her. If only she felt that same feeling.

He'd foreseen it though. Why else wear so many masks in front of her if it were otherwise? Heck! She hadn't even believed in him at the start. It had taken him this long, so many days to force the belief out of her. Now she saw him. Yet it wasn't a smile she greeted him with. It was fear. Of course, how else respond to such a reaction if one were the spirit of fear than to welcome it? It wasn't enough though. That sort of welcome was hollow and undesirable, in his mind.

Two years!

It had taken two years, out of which the majority was filled with humiliation, hatred and pain. If it hadn't been for the Guardians, then perhaps it would have been less. Though if it weren't for how weak his own creations were without his assistance, he would have never gotten out of that mess. Only to wind up in an even greater one. It wasn't a pleasant find, to realise that Amity had stopped believing in him. Along with any other entities – for which he was partly glad for (those included his enemies, the Guardians after all), but it didn't make his time stuck in his lair any better.

"After all, you aren't really supposed to see me, are you?" he added after a while.

She shook her head, her hair swishing a little as she did so. When she was younger, she had a way of exaggerating every reaction, including this one, making it appear almost comical. It would have convinced him to let go of his anger in the past. Would have. Back then. Past tense.

"After all, I'm not like the humans around you."

Another shake. Though there didn't seem to be any knowledge behind this. He clearly wasn't human but he was certain that she knew nothing about him. Even then she knew so little. He would have to teach her. Trouble was: how do you teach a mortal about the matters of the immortal world? Especially one so young. Her reluctance didn't help and people surrounding her would only make this a very long, slow process since they wouldn't help ease the doubt. They'd only confuse her, give her false information and lead her off the path. Wouldn't be the first time they had. They're all a bunch of thieves. Liars. Cheaters. The lot of them.

He sighed. "Why do you deny me?" Tiredness ebbed from that voice, sincere and untainted. He had right to feel exasperated, he had reason to give up. This wasn't getting anywhere. She was still scared and nothing else.

He could see that she would flee if given the chance. He could feel her discomfort, smell and taste the fear. He could hear it in advance, the high pitch shrill that she'd give out if he tried to chase her.

Maybe it was better this way. He was the spirit of fear after all.

However, if he'd been one all along then how had he ever become friends with a child when that went against everything he'd ever learned from his occupation? She should have feared him then, not now. If anything, she should have feared him less now. She could have hit him or fought against him. Blaming it on assault, or something along those lines. She could have just ignored the strange happenings too.

"Alright, have it your way, then," he surrendered, turning around.

For a moment, just for a second or two, he was sure he could sense something else in the air. Only for a moment, he could have sworn she took a step closer. But then she stopped, letting him walk off. He didn't turn around to look back at her.

The brat didn't deserve it.

With a flick of his hand and a few grains of sand, he vanished from the room, leaving the girl stand on her own in the basement. Every illusion, every creature and nightmare had gone too, leaving the area almost completely empty and silent.

* * *

Amity had never really stopped to think that night. Got out as soon as possible in fact, avoiding telling her mother anything. Despite this, her mother quickly seemed to sense something was wrong with her daughters – as mothers do, much to the misfortune of any teenage girl that has ever tried to keep a secret from her parents – and immediately asked away. After that, she made the point of reminding said daughter about her next meeting with the psychologist, over a bowl of semi-cold noodle soup.

"B-but..."

"No buts," her mother cut her off shortly.

Their conversation wound up being unsurprisingly curt that night. Not that it mattered to the girl. There were other _things_ on her mind. The possibility of some of those _things_ actually happening would have seemed absurd to her just moments ago. And no matter how long she spent thinking, whilst trying to violently dissect the carrots that had been added into her meal with a spoon, she couldn't quite figure out how any of the past events could have happened.

In the end, all that was left was a mental breakdown, but even once dinner had ended and she had gotten away from her mother she could even bring herself to do that.

She didn't want to see her past.

She didn't want to go to the psychologist every now and then. No one wanted to do that. Still, she would have to. She would have to tell the unknown woman about every experience in her life and all those personal things for which she would rather have killed herself than spilt the beans. After all, she was a thirteen-year-old, who still had a small amount of dignity inside her.

 _All the more reason not to accept Him either._

Even once forced to turn off the lights and head off to bed, she still refused to sleep and surrender. By the time she would wake up, it would be a new day, a horrid day. A day she never wanted to come. So cradling her body, with her arms around her legs in a fetal position, she stayed awake, repeatedly wishing that this was all a lie. Never mind her age, she had a full right to act like a child when it was strictly necessary.

 _There's a boogeyman in the basement._

 _A black cat could understand me... and was probably a transformed boogeyman._

 _I have a psychiatrist._

 _The people in my school would laugh their pants off if they heard about any of this. Am I really a mentally impaired idiot?_

 _No, this isn't real. This isn't real. This is fake. All lies. Illusions._

Those thoughts carried on until half-way through the night, whilst her eyes slowly closed and she gave in. Though unlike what she had expected, there were no nightmares, no bad dreams, or any sign of the male creature that came to visit her after all those years.

In fact, she dreamed of absolutely nothing that night. As if perhaps none of that had happened and not even her subconsciousness was willing to acknowledge it.

* * *

Now, Sanderson was a busy spirit. He couldn't just get away from his schedule for nothing. Which hadn't in itself explained why instead of giving dreams strictly to children, he stopped at a strange female's house, a teenager's home.

There was something off about her, something that lured him in. He was certain it wasn't belief, the energy was completely different. At least, not belief in him, per say. As she was sleeping, there didn't seem to be any dreams above her head, though he had created some for everyone, including the more grown-up children, even those that were nearly adults by human standards. This one, as far as he could, had no sand floating above her head, no visible dream. Perhaps something had gone wrong?

Then, as he turned around, he could see the person behind this, standing in the shadows, attempting to hide. At first, he glared at the shadows of the room. With a blink of an eye, it was gone, but then he found himself wondering more.

If it had been who he had thought it had been, why was the girl not having any nightmares? Unless of course that had just been an illusion and the monster who picked on little children wasn't really here. It would make sense, wouldn't it? The Guardians had defeated him years ago.

He sighed, taking a step back from the bed. He would ignore her for now. Wait until something did show up. Perhaps she was just a little different, that was all. Probably. Then, if Pitch was really behind this, he wouldn't hesitate to strike. Not only that, but he would make sure to get permanently rid of him. Better yet, this girl would. If he bothered to plague this girl with nightmares, he would suffer from her belief too. Even if it would be bending the rules a little to infuse belief in her. If Pitch, that Moon-forsaken mongrel showed up, trying to gain her belief, Sandy would ensure that she would believe in him and the Guardians too and would eventually be the end of him.

They say that the light is brighter in the dark, but this world didn't need more darkness or more of Pitch.

'I need to go,' Sandy reasoned, stopping the trail of thought there, before exiting the girl's room. His next destination led him to the Bennett house. Conjuring up a few ribbons of golden sand, before tying them up into an origami plane, he levitated it up, leaping onto it, before flying off.


	7. Shadow (3)

**Shadow**

 **Chapter 3**

 **[January 25th, 2014]**

"Now, is there something new, Amity?" the older woman asked, tapping her black biro pen against the wooden edges of the clipboard. The noise in itself was enough to make Amity shiver. No, this was not a question she was willing to answer.

The girl in the seat opposite shook her head.

"I'm sure we've been over this, Amity. You can trust me, but you also have to talk to me. That's why I'm here," Doctor Phillips reminded her, bringing her glasses closer to her face. For just a moment, her eyes trailed down to the sheet of paper, miniature scrawls crawling over the page. Amity couldn't read them; not from this angle, or this distance. She did have a faint idea about the words would have said, though.

"No," Amity whispered, reluctantly. "You're here because my mother paid you." She then crossed her arms over her chest, trying her best to look the psychiatrist in the eyes as she spoke. Resilience was key.

The woman smiled bitterly. "That too, I suppose. You're a smart girl..."

"I'm thirteen."

"I know." She nodded. "What I was saying, is that a smart, thirteen-year-old girl would talk, because she would know that it would only do her good."

The words felt like honey. Too smooth. Tasted too sweet, too sticky. That woman, the one that sat right in front of her, was really a master of her craft, sly and cunning, with a silver tongue. They had to be, dealing with children, telling them precious lies that would get them to talk. Even if the youth was already thirteen. No matter the age, a human was stubborn. To get into the mind of a human required patience and the right words, praises. It was like training a cat really. Amity wondered if perhaps other children were just like her, just like cats, whenever they were around this adult.

"Silence is gold," Amity responded after a while, studying the woman's aged face. The female seemed to be frowning now, which revealed just how old she was, probably in her late thirties, although her still-perfect smile would say otherwise. The lines across her forehead, around her eyes and mouth though, they told a different story. Probably fighting the temptation to snap the neck of some people on occasion. She must have gotten stressed a lot too. It wouldn't surprise her - Amity had heard somewhere that it took years of study, far longer than for most professions, for someone to become a psychologist. Even longer if one wanted to be acknowledged and patients were money.

No matter how it was though, right now all that really mattered was escape.

"Hmm..." the noncommital hum came from Doctor Phillips. "Any particular reasons why you don't feel like sharing today?"

 _Why don't you tell her about the monsters...?_

 _Why don't you admit that you're off your head?_

 _Come on, it's not so bad. Mad Hatter's accepted it, why don't you? Madness, I mean._

"Those are for me to know and you to forget." Perhaps a little rude, in front of a medical professional with a PhD, but then again, she believed it was well-deserved. If she were to suffer one of her least favourite days in the week at the psychologist's, she wasn't going to make it easy for this person to earn her money. Besides, she already had homework. This... was more trouble than it was worth.

The 'doctor' added another note eyeing Amity's movement.

Oh, great. Now her movements were going to be assessed too? "It's normal for children who see things that others cannot - should not - to keep secrets. Understandably. But..." the psychologist moved on, in an all-too-smart-for-comfort tone.

 _Should not see..._

 _Should not see..._

 _Should not see..._

Amity slowly tuned out of the conversation. She didn't care! It had been that way before and no one bothered to say anything. Why now? It was then that the air seemed to fall in temperature, feeling as chilling and clinical as a hospital room. She had been in one before. Gotten too sick and out of worry, her mother had taken her to a hospital. She'd been only three back then. That didn't mean she didn't remember the anxiety-inducing experience and the sensations that rushed through her entire body and stimulated every one of her senses. A feeling that grew more sickly, weakening and unnerving with every word said by an adult. She remembered the way that the doctors had spoken.

And like back then, her whole world seemed to tip over.

"...Amity?" A familiar voice led her out of her thoughts.

She blinked. Once. Twice. The almost-formed surroundings immediately vanished and the sickness was gone.

"S-suh-session's over," Amity remarked weakly, before standing up, ready to go. As she looked up, she could see that there were a good ten minutes left, but she couldn't care less. Shakily, she walked out, not turning around to look at the other person in the room.

* * *

"Two minutes early. Session over so soon?" her mother asked, as Amity got into the silver Audi. If only the woman showed this much interest in other areas of her life.

Amity sighed and shook her head. "No. She asked too many questions."

This time, her mother actually laughed. Laughed. There wasn't a disappointed sigh, a curse, or anything like that. She simply laughed it off. "Don't teachers ask you questions all the time?" the older female asked, as she turned around to face her daughter. With that, she started up the car. With a slight jerk, the car reversed, turning, before her mother drove off, out of the parking lot.

"They never ask me about the things that happened in my life."

It took a few minutes and several turns before her parent and guardian could answer that. "It couldn't have been that bad."

"No, it gets worse. My mother dumped me there for being too scared to go down to the basement," Amity huffed.

"And I had very good reasons why I did so. This wasn't just about spiders. You were scared of things that don't even exist, for Pete's sake!" the adult in the vehicle protested, before grumbling a little. The car stopped sharply. "How do all the idiots even get a driving license?"

Determined not to continue the previous conversation, Amity decided to answer the rhetorical question. She felt like defying the rules of literature anyway. "They just do."

"Doesn't explain why my daughter is hell-bent on claiming that there's a boogeyman in our basement. I cleared it out just months ago," her mother ignored the attempt, before uttering a light curse under her breath. As the moron in front of them finally decided to move out of the way, the journey continued mostly in silence. "By the way, we're having tacos for dinner today, Amity," she commented half-way home, although she never received a reaction. Not that she was searching for one.

.

.

.

[January 26th, 2014 - Tooth Fairy Palace]

As per usual, Toothianna was busy giving orders. Calling street names from one side of the palace to another, she was on impatient to get out into the field again the moment even rolled in. For now, however, she would have to stay confined to the palace, until her side of the hemisphere was downed in darkness and the moon would be up. Not that there was long to wait.

"Left incisor at twenty-two Crown's Street Pennsylvania, Burgess. Oh, would you look at that, a perfectly clean-"

But before she could finish complimenting the miniature canine in the palm of her right hand, a mini-fair flew up to her, chirping loudly. The wild flutter of wings caught her attention sooner though and she was already facing the fairy as she closed in.

"A memory box? Glowing, are you sure?" Toothianna inquired, receiving a quick nod.

She looked around, at the bustling fairies that were surrounding one of the pillars. Hidden within them were containers filled with teeth, one of which was deemed exceptionally intriguing by the other mini-fairies who crowded around, forming a semicircle around the jutting-out box. Surely enough, the box seemed to be glowing very faintly. Moving closer to examine the little peculiarity, she took up the shiny metal container, pulling it out of its place within the wall. Tilting her head as she looked down at the thing, she narrowed her eyes.

"That's odd."

A few tweets agreed with her, as a few tried to get a closer look too.

"It belongs to an adult," Toothianna noted after a while, no less confused than before. She shifted the container in her hands, before lightly pressing the decorative surface made up of diamond shapes. On the front of the container, a cartoon face with hazel eyes, a pale, unmarked face, narrow nose and dirty blond hair was drawn out, complete with a wide smile. This had once been a girl. Now, the only remnants of her childhood lay in this box.

As the glow brightened, Toothianna felt herself getting sucked into a vortex of bright hues, before those faded and the outlines sharpened, forming a collection of pictures from the past.

 _"Sarah, Sarah!" A motherly voice called out from across the field. The girl ignored it, still giggling and laughing. She was four here, looking at an invisible phantom of a creature, one only she could have seen as vividly and as accurately as she did. It stood amongst the trees, freezing the bark, with a cool smirk on its pale face._

The memories shifted then...

 _A five-year-old kept pestering that same spirit cheerfully. "Do it again, again!" Her hazel eyes sparkled brightly as she watched the frost clamber over the stems of grass, slowly spreading to her bare feet. She shivered lightly, giggling and squealing with joy. Her merriment was met with an equally eager chuckle from her barely visible friend._

And again...

 _An adorable six-year-old was messing around, clambering up trees in late November, as agile as a squirrel, despite the restricting, fuzzy sweaters that she was bundled up in. She was looking up, eyes wide in awe as she saw her friends floating in the sky, swaying lightly as the wind moved his figure. She laughed a little as the wind blew him away into a nearby tree, resulting in a crash. He slid down, calling the winds funny nicknames, before facing the girl. "Wanna fly, kiddo?"_

 _"Uhuh..."_

Then again...

 _"Do you ever get into trouble, Jack?" the ten-year-old version of Sarah Parker asked curiously._

 _The two were walking around that same forest, with the snow already covering the ground. The white-haired_ _male next to her nodded. "Yeah... Aster always has some problem or another when it comes to my snow," he nodded._

 _"Oh... but snow's so fun... how can that get you into trouble?"_

 _Jack rubbed his head nervously. "Well..."_

 _Though by that time, Sarah had found another conversation thread to start. Her hands clasped a heavy helping of fluffy, white snow, turning it into a snowball, before she threw it at a nearby tree. "I get into trouble for having friends..." she muttered._

 _"Friends? But... that's not against the rules."_

 _"I said that to mum too!" Sarah complained. "But she says I'm not supposed to be friends with you. Says I'm making it up, anyway." She threw another snowball._

 _"Of course you aren't," the male ruffled her head, smiling. "Well, if she gets so angry about it, why don't we keep this our little secret?" That seemed to turn the girl's frown into a smile immediately afterwards and this time she threw a snowball straight at Jack. "Hey, what was that for? I'll get you for that!"_

And so it continued...

 _"Woah- ahh!" the girl gasped as she fell backwards, only to be caught by a pair of arms._

 _"Careful," a familiar voice came from behind as the male helped her stand up. She turned around to look at Jack, blushing lightly as she did._

But before the next line escaped him, the girl had already aged and was clearly around sixteen...

 _"Ice is a... slippery thing..." Jack commented mischievously, grinning._

 _"Then I'm lucky to have you," Sarah responded, turning redder. "You'll catch me before I fall, won't you?"_

 _"Or I'll fall with you."_

 _Sarah laughed, shaking her head. "No, that wouldn't be fair. You'd probably squash me!"_

 _"Want to bet?" Jack asked, with a wink. Quite on purpose, he took a step back, taking her hand. With the slightest bit of movement, he pulled them into a small dance, but soon enough, both lost balance and tipped over, falling into a heap on the ice. Although luckily for Sarah, she fell second. "So, whose calling tops now?"_

 _"N-no fair..."_

 _"And you thought I was heavy," Jack commented, exaggerating. Sarah smacked his shoulder lightly, attempting to get up. But the ice made her slip. "Feeling clingy?"_

 _"Well-"_

 _However, she was cut off by a chaste kiss - one that probably neither of them had expected up until now. It lasted for just a few seconds, before the two looked at one another, smiling, red and breathless. Not long after, he aided her in getting up and she him, as the smiled shyly at each other._

But that didn't seem to last forever...

 _Not even a year passed, it couldn't have and sixteen-year-old Samatha was crying. She looked different now, maybe too mature for someone her age and too joyless for someone who'd met the spirit of fun. Slowly, she seemed to be forgetting, and whilst occasionally she would utter the name Jack Frost out loud, those times would grow infrequent and fade. Her belief too. Slowly but surely, before the light out of the picture was gone, the forest was no longer a part of her surroundings._

 _She met someone else and there the memories ended, around nine months after the incident, with someone else, other than Jack Frost to care for. Small, weak, but someone she would care for and worry for._

Toothianna was pulled back out, quite suddenly and only managed a gasp. This had been Sarah Parker. Jack Frost's true first believer. However, Jack Frost had clearly forgotten about all that. A cold took over her, as she pushed away from the container. She should have stayed ignorant, left those memories behind like every grown-up should. Instead, something had opened up those memories and may very well, very soon, be the end of all her memories.

This wasn't allowed. If she truly remembered them - not quite, the glow would be stronger then, but if she did - they might disrupt the balance. She furrowed her brow, looking at her fairies.

"Have you checked Jack's memories?"

A few of the mini-fairies nodded, with one, of violet feathers, even holding out his tooth container as evidence.

"He doesn't know about her, does he? Does it show her?"

The fairies looked at one another, then looked at her, confirming what she had already theorised was the reality. Whatever the reason, Jackson Overland Frost forgot completely about the girl that had once been a serious part of his life. As for Sarah Parker, she was in danger of remembering.

"Oh, moons!"

.

.

.

 **[January 27th, 2014]**

"Get the hell out of my sight!" Pitch Black growled at the nightmare by his side. The equine, as reluctant as always, stuck around for just moments afterwards, before willingly vanishing, lest its master would show it out of the underground lair.

The Boogeyman wasn't going to stand this any longer. To think that Sandy had been snooping about, where only he should have been, that was bad enough. However, now there were other problems turning up. His newest believer (only believer too) was stuck with psychologist appointments, he still hadn't managed to free Onyx from Sanderson's clutches and children were less and less afraid of the classics. After all, where had the fear of rats gone? Headless horsemen, ghosts, ghouls, none of that was scary anymore. At most, children would term it "ew" and "that's disgusting". But would they rear, run away, hide in fear? Would they try and fight it? No.

Last time, there was something he could work on. There still were a few children afraid of arachnids - and there likely always would be - but the majority feared the more difficult, unpredictable fears that weren't so easy to access and not always left a great taste on the tongue. Abandonment was probably the better of the lot. Abuse, pain, cruelty, those were sharp, a little too much. And then there were those fears that made even the King of Nightmare's stomach reel and heave in disgust.

Pacing around was one of the few options still left to Pitch ever since Sandy's appearance. The moon wasn't helping either. Few clouded nights meant that it was always shining brightly and the Man in the Moon himself had a more or less clear view of the happenings on this planet. Oh, there was nothing that put Pitch on edge more! He'd just managed to clamber out of that god-forsaken hell-hole not so long ago! Only to have to deal with this?! This had been his planet even before Manny had dared set foot on it. Or perhaps, a moon on it, as it were. Whatever the case, he could blame no one else for all that grief, anger, greying hair and lankier-by-the-day figure.

Those he once had called friends were no help now either. The spirits all kept in hiding, as did the mythical creatures. Humans had all but remembered, including that liar, Jamie Bennett. And his last light? As if she would care to help. Thirteen was still technically a child's age. She wouldn't understand, but less be willing to. All the rules, all that naive morality was ingrained, encoded into her young mind and she probably had no idea about the reality.

His pupil's thinned to slits as they faced the globe. Pinpricks of gold lined the edges of the continents. Not glorious no. Not as mocking as the Guardians would have liked. But it was their fault for ignoring all those forgettable countries, full of children who would not readily believe. Less shelter than brain capacity. They knew what to hold belief in. All North could give was hollow toys. What are dreams for, with no money, not even for food? Dreams won't feed a hungry mouth, but education might just ensure that one would not starve again. Why have memories of the happy times, when they'll only drown in misery? Why happy at all, when they are but naive beliefs? He'd been there, done that, and all this was for nought. Fun? Hah. Try making it snow in Eritrea. As for hope, one could have that. But what was hope for when it came to those with tuberculosis, AIDS, HIV, pneumonia...? No. Fear worked best here. Don't let yourself get caught by rapists, drug dealers and traffickers. Don't let your chance be blown away, don't let yourself starve to death.

But how could fear be anyplace, exist anywhere, if it was constantly pushed away?

'It's their fault. They can deal with the consequences,' Pitch waved it off. So be it. They can starve, they can _die_ , they can feel the _pain_ and the consequences of _their_ actions. He'd seen dead bodies litter barren grounds, he could stomach seeing some more.

 _"Help!"_

 _"I'm scared!"_

 _"Please... I'm scared."_

He couldn't forget them or ignore them forever.

 _"Where's mother?"_

 _"I don't like how daddy beats mommy... I want it to stop!"_

 _"Don't take them from me!"_

 _"I'm hungry... c-cold... will it be cold tonight? It hurts my feet, makes them sting... I don't want them to sting."_

 _"D-don't hurt her! She's my sister! Stop, y-you're hurting her!"_

He could try...

 _"What if someone hurt her?"_

 _"My cat! It's gone!"_

 _"I-I don't want to be alone, puh-puh-please... don't leave me here... I don't like the dark..."_

And fail. Closing his eyes, he realised that no matter how much he tried, he would be betraying himself if he ever let himself forget.

 _'Why won't they leave me alone...?'_

Pitch froze. He recognised that voice. It was a thought. Just a thought. Not _just_ a thought. A very important thought. Slipping into the shadows, he disappeared to save the strongest voice. It may not have been the most severe case. It wasn't just a case, though. This was Amity.

* * *

"Heh, there you are," the mockery sounded clearly in Amity's ears.

With her back pinned right against the brick wall, she watched them cautiously, four pairs of eyes gleaming with hatred and cruelty. Their snide grins looked almost identical, as they eyed the cowering teenager standing the alleyway, clasping her folders as though her life depended on it. The rest of them were scattered across the ground, some in puddles, some luckily dry. Not for long though. Her homework would soon be blotched with the filthy water from puddles.

"Told you Geeky would be here," a second voice joined in, this one belonging to a female.

"P-please Holly, I just want to get home," Amity whispered, begging the second figure. Stepping in, the girl with the pink designer coat walked up to her former friend, almost disgusted by hearing her name being said by Amity. Only the faint outlines of the uniform were visible on her, as most was covered by the coat. Save for a deep violet and blue, striped tie and the collar of a white shirt.

"Don't please me, Ams," Holly scoffed, huffing lightly. She whipped her hair back so that Amity could clearly see the disappointment on her face. "We had an agreement, didn't we?"

She nodded meekly. "B-but I..."

"Oh, no no no no no. No buts," Holly hissed. She glared at the smaller girl, crossing her arms over her chest. "Now, where's that paper?"

Amity leaned into the wall some more, digging her fingers into the folders. She didn't want to say this. She knew what would happen. She knew their rules. "I-I... I didn't have time, I swear, I-I-I h-had..." she stammered out, "o-other things." She wouldn't say what took up so much of her time. She couldn't. If she hadn't had to do certain things, she would have had time to give her that paper two days ago.

"Really?" Another female's voice rang out. "And you didn't find time for Holly's history paper?"

Amity gulped. "I-In all fairness, I d-duh-didn't even tuh-take History."

"We had a deal Amz," Holly then looked towards the owner of the first voice, a burly boy with dirty blond curls. He was two years older than the girls and was Holly's older brother, Samuel. "I want you to get the girl to tell me what was so important to her that she forgot all about _moi_."

Doing as he was told, the male stalked up to Amity, pushing her hands away. As a result, the once-dry papers and folders all toppled over, falling onto the ground. Cowering in shock and fear, she looked up to Samuel, eyes large and fearful. Those had been her year's work. Those had been her pride. Her mother's pride. How would she explain those? 'Why won't they leave me alone?' she asked herself, as she dodged a hit from the boy.

"Talk, Geeky," Samuel pressed on, swiping again, this time grabbing her by the wrist.

"I-I..."

"Talk!" he pushed her to the wall.

"I-I-I..." She bit her lip, tearing up slightly. The coils of his hand tightened and a sharp pain embraced the inside of her wrist.

"Do us a favour, and talk, Parker," Molly's voice added, as she laughed. "Or I'll get Ryan to join." Ryan was taller, sleeker and stronger whilst being one year younger than Samuel. He was a combination of nasty and happy-to-please (or at least, in Holly and Molly's case) and had a definite crush on Molly. He wasn't someone that Amity wanted to anger.

Samuel forced her against the wall again, this grinning from ear to ear.

"I-I was at the psychologist!" Amity cried out, before immediately regretting it.

"Oh, yeah!" Samuel let out a smug laugh, he pulled her away from the wall, giving the girls just enough time to laugh, before pushing her into the wall again. She cried out, as she felt a hellish type of pain spread through her entire arm now starting at the wrist and ending at the shoulder. "Looks like we've got a psycho here! So, what'ya do when you're alone, Amity Hatter! Talk to bunnies, or to the moon? You killed someone yet?!"

"Maybe drove her dad crazy, that's why he left!" Holly joined.

"Probably a secret druggie," Ryan muttered from behind them, not overly impressed. He had other things in mind. Other ways to get more out of her.

"Or maybe she's one of those Schizzies," Molly jeered, meaning Schizophrenics.

Tears streamed down her face. No! She wasn't- she couldn't be- no... why were they all so...?

"Gah!" Samuel was the first to say something else except for a scathing remark. His head was tilted upward and soon enough, everyone looked. "Something's got me. Some bugger's got me! Someone threw a rock at my head!" At that, he backed away, releasing Amity.

However, it was too late for him to escape another few rocks. They were small but effectively repulsed them from the quivering girl.

Looking at one another, the gang watched as the rocks missed the girl, but hit Samuel with wicked precision. Every now and then, he would yelp and take a step back, but the rocks would follow. "What the hell! Where are they comin' from!?" the group uttered simultaneously, as they backed away.

"Witch, Amity's a witch!" Holly called out.

"Bitch!" Molly hissed at the brunette who was still trembling with her back against the wall, clutching her arm.

"Freak!" Samuel snapped.

That wasn't it though. Just as they were about to turn around, a bark alerted them all. An extremely large rottweiler stood there, black with a deep shade of red alternating through its body pattern stood in the middle of the alleyway, looking furious. It was snarling, claws digging into the ground, glaring at the group. Amity didn't even move. Nor did the others, who had turned into a shaking pile of leaves as they watched the massive dog walk up to them, growling deeply. Growling at _them_.

"G-guys...?" Molly stuttered.

"I'm running, Mols, feel free to join," Holly commented, with a squeal, as she rushed past the rottweiler. The rest ran off, with the rottweiler soon chasing after the group.

Meanwhile, Amity had slumped down to the ground, covering her face with her hands. She didn't - couldn't - care less about the state of her clothes, or her skin, what had been done was done. But she did care about her arm. About what her mother would say. She was worried that she would have to tell. She was worried about what they would be gossiping about at school tomorrow. Undoubtedly, the hot topic would be about her secret side, that of a witch, a psycho and who knew what else they may decide to add.


	8. Shadow (4)

**Shadow**

 **Chapter 4**

 **[January 27th, 2014]**

"I think that's enough tears for one day, don't you?" a male voice asked.

Amity pulled her hands away from her face, promptly whipping away the liquid droplets that blurred the picture in front of her. She looked up, still shaking. And to no surprise, embarrassment forced her to look away.

In front of her now stood Shadow, betraying a little concern as he reached out to pull her up to her feet. He looked perhaps a little dishevelled, but otherwise, still very much the same, except for the frown on his face. "Why do you avoid me?"

She didn't answer, looking down. She was a mess. Her folders and all her schoolwork, homework, assignments - those all were as good as gone. Manky, the ink and pencil lines distorted, broken, faded and barely visible... it didn't seem to good at all. Some sheets were torn, others soaked past fixing, with all the color and lettering faded. Biting her lip, she folded her arms against her chest, as if grieving over the lost notes. She protected her left arm though, as it ached miserably.

"W-was it you who scared them away?" she finally said something, quietly.

"The Rottweiler wasn't me, but it had been my idea," he exclaimed, honestly. "Would you rather we left you to face them yourself? Even you can't say that I had absolutely no right to scare them. You've seen what they can do..."

"N-no... I... how did you...?"

"I'd have thought you'd figure it out by now. You were afraid, that is all it takes for me to find someone. As for the Rottweiler, he's the dog of one of your mother's friends, remember? All I had to do, was persuade him, but I was certain he'd do that anyway," Shadow explained. "You used to spoil him rotten, of course, he'd recognize your name."

So, it had been Max who had scared them off. Not that it eased the confusion. She still couldn't decide whether she should continue avoiding him, his dangerous habits and cruel ideas of revenge, or whether she should thank him and let go of the past. After all, he'd been right. That didn't make his decisions any more righteous. He shouldn't have given her former friends a scare when they were eleven just because they were false. He shouldn't have petrified her bullies. As for his creepy attitude, strange abilities and the fact that he could sense fear... that really spoke for itself. Eleven-year-old Amity would have been fascinated and intrigued. Thirteen-year-old Amity was nervous, cynical and paranoid about all of this.

One of her hands dug into the other; a nervous habit she had. For a while, she stood and thought about his words, before finally facing him. "I-I... thank you," she stammered out, "for h-helping me."

The frown seemed to leave him and instead, he attempted something akin to a smile. It didn't look like most smiles... perhaps a little awkward, unnatural, but sincere nonetheless, even with the teeth protruding. In a rather comical way, his smile seemed to mimic a certain fictional character's smile... namely Toothless. The notion did calm her, although she would have preferred if he'd done it closed-mouth.

She frowned. Two years. It had taken all of two years since he'd shown up again. That was probably her fault, but all the same, she couldn't help but wonder. "Why?" she asked, watching him intently. "Why did you decide to show up? Why now?"

He shook his head. "That is for another time." Then he paused, looking around. Kneeling down, he grabbed a hold of some of the folders, picking through them. The ones that were the most intact were the ones he handed back to her, the others he kept in his arms as he stood back up. He didn't seem too bothered by his newly soaked trousers or the state his cloak was in now, although he didn't seem pleased by it either. Instead, he gave Amity another pitying look - something she hated even more than she despised the people who had left her like this. She could cope.

"Thanks a-again," she whispered, holding onto her work with her right arm as, before turning around. But before she could take a single step forward, she got pulled back and for a while, everything turned black.

Then in the blink of an eye, the light returned, her stomach swayed and her mind was reeling. The darkness faded out, leaving her with a clear picture of her surroundings. She no longer stood in the alleyway she had been in before. No. Instead, seeing the neatly kept garden and the slightly tarnished albeit still steadily standing row of picket fencing, she came to realize she was just outside her house. Gawking, she turned around to face her captor, who still had his hands on her shoulders.

She narrowed his eyes at him. "What was that for!?"

A smirk tugged at his lips. Clearly, he was feeling mighty proud of his actions and that feeling wasn't mutual. "I thought you would welcome a faster method of transportation. At the rate humans walk, you'd have been home by midnight," came a teasing reply, playful and friendly. Not at all like the person he could be.

 _Home_. She sighed, glancing back at the house behind her. It was indeed getting darker and the lights in the living room were already switched on, radiating past the thin, white curtains and creeping into the garden. There were no bullies there. Just her mother and a promise of another therapy session. She welcomed it, though only reluctantly, after the past day's events. Taking a few steps forward, Amity walked up to the doorstep, wondering if her mother would question her late-coming.

"Oh, she'll be terrified," Amity's lanky re-acquaintance spoke from behind her. _'Comforting...'_ He chuckled. "Don't be too surprised if you get grounded."

"I get grounded? How is that fair?!"

"Unless you're willing to tell your mother the truth about today..." he offered, knowing the answer fully well.

"No." How predictable.

"Well," he paused, watching the girl reach out to the door handle, "I ought to go."

She turned to him, raising an eyebrow. Where? Why? How- well, she already had her suspicions as to how he would go. Why was he even holding those tattered bits of ruined paper anyway? There were plenty of questions Amity would have liked to ask him if only she could find the voice to ask. If he were willing to answer them, although his expression said otherwise. Everything about him said otherwise. Her free hand tugged at the doorknob and she silently winced. Still rather sore.

"I- um... goodbye, Shadow," she said quickly, before pushing the door open.

The spirit stood on the stone garden path, opening his mouth in protest, but she'd closed it behind her sooner than he could speak. "It's Pitch, Pitch Black..." he said weakly, to no one in particular, as he looked down at the stack of papers in his hand.

* * *

Sarah Parker sat in the living room of her house, the house she had lived in for over a decade, her head in her hands. When there wasn't her daughter to worry about, there were always other things. Now it was Kyle, ignorant, twelve years older Kyle who'd caused her more heartbreak than he ever did joy. Worse still, he and Amity scarcely even talked. Unlike with some of her previous partners, where she at least tried to be polite, it seemed that her daughter was resolute in her choice to hate this new addition to their family. It didn't help that Kyle had gone off on yet another business trip. And Amity was nowhere to be found, even an hour after the normal time she was normally home by.

 _'Sometimes, life makes you wonder where you fucked up,_ ' Sarah thought miserably, shaking her head.

Her heart stopped suddenly. The front door opened and she wasn't sure whether she should rush to it, or sit still and think of a suitable punishment for her daughter. She chose option B, taking the time to wipe away the tears that had formed around the corners of her eyes.

Her daughter made the attempt to sneak past the living room, dodging her mother as she rushed up the stairs. She only muttered a brief "hello", before racing to her bedroom, where she (with very little subtlety) dumped a pile of something heavy - possibly her bag, but curiously, Sarah never did catch sight of the item. It was only once Amity had dressed - allowing Sarah to realize that something had changed about the state of her clothes - and walked back down the stairs, in a much calmer fashion that Sarah spoke.

"Well...?" she asked, expecting a decent answer.

"Well... what?" Amity retorted.

"What kept you? It's already five!" Sarah snapped, raising her voice, _trying_ to stay level-headed. Regret flooded her mind as her daughter took a step back. Yet she had every right to be angry at her daughter. She would not back away from that. Though she never wanted to push anyone away. She didn't want to mess up another time...

Lowering her head, Amity apologized quietly, before sitting down beside her mother. There was enough space on that couch for more and maybe it was Sarah's hopeful thoughts of having more people in her house, but even with Amity, the couch still felt somewhat empty. Still, she forced a smile, before looking at her daughter. "So, how's you're day been, Ami?" she asked gently, lowering her voice. She watched the expression on her daughter's face shift until finally, it turned into a neutral one. "No weird voices or funny spiders?" she teased.

With some hesitance, she shook her head. "No." It didn't sound convincing, but Sarah wouldn't press. This relationship was precarious enough already. "Just had to talk to a teacher about something..."

Right. Teacher. "Any homework?"

"Well... sort of," Amity mumbled awkwardly. "But I went off the path and dropped my bag-no... well... my papers are..."

"Speak up honey," Sarah encouraged her, worried. From the little excerpts, she had heard she couldn't help but be confused with Amity's situation. "Where did you go off the path? Did something happen to your bag? What homework was it," slipped out of her before she realized it. And that was enough to trigger the tears. Placing a hand on Amity's back, she waited by her, unsure of what to do. In two years, Amity had never cried or said much of anything. She never had problems.

With her face filled with tears, Amity looked up at her mother. "I-is it so wrong t-to be different?" she asked meekly.

Unable to answer this question, Sarah just shook her head. She remembered little of her childhood. How could she know what was normal for a child, what was right for a child, when she barely felt as though she ever was one? She only remembered growing up too fast, too soon, with little opportunity. She didn't recall her friends, or how _she_ acted as a child, no- an adolescent.

"No." Sarah brought her daughter to her chest, hugging her. "There's nothing wrong with being different."

She felt her own tears stream down her cheeks as she said this. Images flashed past her mind and as much as she desperately tried to push them away, she couldn't help but slowly recognize them. Each little picture, a small piece of her memory coming back to there.

 _"Y-you... you can see me?"_

 _"Well, I was always a little different. Mama says so," a young voice responded with a giggle._

.

.

.

[January 28th, 2014]

Another day, another memory. Amity looked up at the greying clouds floating about her, intimidating and proud. It looked as though the sky might break loose with the pressure of water upon them. In front of her, the outlines of her school already showed up. Some kid pushed past her, with more eagerness than she ever had for the social setting that started slowly unveiling. Never even had the manners to say sorry, but the brunette immediately greeted his friends with a "what's up?"

She sighed, deciding to ignore this and pulled the strap of her bag. It was new, grey and rather dull, but it would do. The best bag she and her mother could get a single day before school. It was strong and large enough for all her paperwork... and the homework that she hadn't entirely lied about. She'd also managed to acquire a painful sprain, which she now had wrapped inside a rather long piece of bandaging. For now, her left hand was temporarily out of order.

A black flash appeared out of nowhere, scampering past her in what seemed like lightning speed. Once it finally stopped, she could see the feline from precisely two weeks ago staring at her, pupils drawn into a thin line within the golden irises. It's gaze followed her as she evaded it, picking up her pace and walking into the school field. Treading by her legs at an almost leisurely pace, it managed to keep up surprisingly well. She scoffed, before trying to lose it within a crowd of other kids, but there was no such luck. It stood patiently on the other side, having managed to out-pace her, tilting its head to the side. A few of the other children noticed - some backing away, others fawning over it. Which was enough to make the cat itself scowl. Even Amity was amused by this.

She finally decided to acknowledge its presence, walking up to it. "Well, what are you doing here?" she inquired of the cat, despite the looks that some of the younger kids standing nearby were giving her. It sat down, holding eye-contact with her. It refused to blink for the longest time and only responded with a small mew.

"Is that your cat?" a young girl questioned, only to sigh disappointedly when she shook her head.

"It's the witch!" another voice exclaimed, this one familiar. Samuel.

The girl backed away hearing this. Amity gawked in shock. How could she believe something as ridiculous as this? Amity had no strange powers. She didn't do voodoo, or witchcraft, or partake in black magic. She hadn't received a Hogwarts letter either, or one from any other wizarding school in the world. If she had, she wouldn't be stuck here. So what proof could they possibly have for her being a witch? She narrowed her eyes at the cat. And that's what you get for associating yourself with a feline that clearly isn't normal.

Though before she could respond to the insult, the school bell rang. Hearing a few last insults from Samuel's groupies, she made her way into the school building, not knowing that the cat was following her intently. That day, she had received a telling-off from a teacher, on account of bringing in an animal to school with her.

And when she tried to explain that the cat wasn't hers, it unhelpfully hid behind her legs at the teacher's outrage, which issued her with a letter to her parents. In this case, parent, because she refused to call Kyle a parent.

She walked off from the teacher's office with a letter in her hand, a sour-faced expression, and a feline refusing to budge following her. Her maths teacher eventually gave up after a hiss from said feline, though it did not stop anyone from calling her a witch. This continued throughout the rest of her school day, with only the cat as a desk mate, teachers gawking at her and students whispering amongst themselves. Even at lunchtime, she sat alone - no surprise there, she wasn't a social butterfly.

Amity glowered at the cat, whilst picking at her food.

"A little personal space would be nice," she muttered, as it hopped onto the bench beside her. Apparently, the cat didn't share this view. Lady misfortune loved to befriend girls like her. Cats as it were, were no different. She sighed, nibbling at the vegetables.

Not very long after she'd finished eating, she spotted a crew of people walking up to her table. Adults. In uniforms. They looked down at the cat once they saw it, only asking Amity if the cat was her's. When they heard a "no" they promptly reached out to pick the feline up by the scruff of its neck, only to receive a few serious scratches and some angry hisses. Angry red lines were scrawled along one of the men's arms by the time he finally gave up, backing away to hide behind the older one.

"'Ere kitty, kitty," the other man tried.

The cat himself was not impressed and with a flick of his tail and roll of his eyes, he turned around.

The man was about to through a sack over him, when the cat yowled, dodging the attempt and clambering up his legs. Digging his tiny claws very, very deep into the man's thigh. "Oh, bloody, frickin' hell!" the older man cursed through gritted teeth, his eyes bulging.

That elicited a laugh from anyone who had stood nearby, including the man's co-worker. After this show, no one bothered to try and take the cat away. So it jumped back down, walking up to Amity, before sitting back down at her legs. There, it proceeded to nonchalantly lick its paws with an unbelievable level of innocence as it looked around itself occasionally, pretending as though nothing had happened. As for the man, well, he grumbled, hobbling back outside with the other one.

Tuesday was an interesting day, to say the least.

* * *

Toothianna sighed, searching through yet more memories to ensure that none of them were as chaotic as Sarah's. She couldn't risk the world's balance by letting the adults remember every aspect of their lives, including those they should have forgotten years ago.

The good news was that from the memories that she had already checked upon, there were no other anomalies. Bad news was that there a) was at least another few billion individuals to go through and b) the issue with Sarah's memories. They started to open up on their own, going into an unexpected depth. Some images and visions she had never seen before, despite having seen most people's memories - or at least those which mattered most.

As for Sarah herself, she'd heard that she wasn't doing anywhere near well. In fact, her fairies had told her that whilst she was fortunate enough for a child, life wasn't so simple. Stressful in fact. It may have contributed to all of this. Or in the least worsened it. Especially with one bad choice after another. Toothianna could empathize with certain aspects of it; she'd dealt with loss, with pain, with unfaithful males or those too busy to care for her and had had more breakups than she would wish to remember, even as a spirit. There were plenty of spirits in this world and very few of them ever cared long enough not to have hurt her. She knew how that was like. The world was filled with Richies, Kyles, and Toms. There was plenty of work to be done, children to be kept safe.

Worse still, she started remembering Jack. However, in spite of this all, Toothianna didn't have the strength to wipe out those memories entirely, even though she could. She could just erase every last bit of Jack left in Sarah's mind. She could end that turmoil and cut off the strand that would lead her to chaos were she to follow it. She could prevent the risk of Sarah becoming a victim to other spirits through her old self resurfacing, the susceptibility to seeing spirits returning. But those weren't _her_ memories.

It struck her then that it was unfair to let adults manage the world on their own. It was unfair for children to have guardians, but for adults to have none.

Her hands took a container with a familiar face on it. Jack Frost. He may not have been able to remember her, despite a closer, more in-depth analysis (as in-depth as she could go) proving Sarah's memories valid, but he was a Guardian. Not just a Guardian of Childhood.

"Baby Tooth," she called her most faithful fairy. The miniature creature appeared, zipping past a cloud of multicolored feathers, before landing on her shoulder.

She chirped at Toothianna, looking down at Jack's memories. At the prospect of doing something Jack-related, she seemed to perk up, her turquoise feathers ruffling a little. _"What is it, mother?"_ she asked, excited, as she looked up at Toothianna.

"I'd like you to go get Jack," Toothianna said. There was something about the seriousness of her voice that made Baby Tooth shiver.

Had something gone wrong? Mother didn't sound pleased. _"Is there a reason?"_

"I'll tell you later," the older fairy promised, before shooing her away. Spreading her wings, Baby Tooth finally took off, finding her way through the fairy palace once more and with a sense of urgency in her head encouraging her, she flew on to Antarctica, where she believed the young winter spirit to reside.

Toothianna meanwhile called her other fairies to help her place the memory caskets back where they had come from. It didn't ease her paranoia - the thought that someone could get caught in a crossfire between Pitch and the Guardians. If Pitch found out that this adult believed, he would find her. He would take her. He would turn her life and her daughter's upside down if he hasn't done so already. And if Jack were forced to remember through Pitch's threats there would be a good chance he would do something rash to keep Sarah from danger.

And his daughter.

No, she wouldn't let that happen. None of the Guardians would.

 _'Please don't be stubborn about this, Jack...'_

* * *

Baby Tooth shivered as the cold nipped on her feathers. She wasn't entirely sure if she could fly all the way to Antarctica. Belief was the first issue and she could already see the lack of it around the Southern Hemisphere weighing down on her. Exhaustion was a threat. Then, there the cold, which she remained unaccustomed to despite it being almost two years since the fight in Antarctica and she'd frequently been here since. However, it was always with the aid of Jack. This time, not even the wind was on her side.

She landed with a thud, not very far inland, despite trying a more graceful descent. She whimpered in pain, knowing that her legs would probably bruise.

Sneezing lightly, as the frost tickled her nose, she rubbed her hands together, before walking on. As small as she was, she hoped she could get to Jack's castle with relative speed. It was then that she realized the next underlying issue. She lowered her head in shame. Where in the name of the Man in the Moon was Jack's castle anyway?

She let out a wheeze, exasperated. Sometimes she wished her friend was a spirit of something warmer... life, well, flowers... and plants... And that he wouldn't build his place in the middle of nowhere with no mapping system to record it.

But, she shut her eyes and pushed on.

When she'd finally reached a memorable place, a colony of emperor penguins just a mile or so down the line, she could hear voices. Some coming from the penguins - " _Have you seen Melody, she should have been back by now?"_

 _"Oh, have you heard about Cass? She went out to swim in the sea a little too early. Came back with the tip of her left flipper missing and hauling a leopard seal over the ice."_

For a moment, part of her wanted to dash in there and find out about the latest gossip. Though she soon forgot about the distraction when she remembered her task. _Go get Jack._ She sighed and walked on, trying to ignore the penguin gossip.

"Hey, Baby Tooth!" a cheerful voice called out.

She looked up, with a mixture of relief and nervousness. Above her, Jack was drifting on a narrow current of air, watching over the penguins. When he spotted her, he smiled, landing just beside her. She immediately ran towards him, ignoring the fact that he was likely no warmer than a snow cone in December. Hugging him, she chirped ecstatically. Oh, it was great to see him again. Even though she'd been here for less than an hour, it was great to see anyone again.

She sneezed again, as Jack picked her out, which forced an apology from him. "Sorry, I'm not really cut out to be a heater," he joked a little, placing her on his shoulder. "So, what brings you here?"

She told him then, all she knew, trying to sound as serious as her mother had, although it made her wonder what she might have possibly wanted Jack for. Or what the emergency was. For all she knew, it could just be concerning teeth and Toothianna would be reacting no differently.

"Wait- me? Why me?"

Baby Tooth shrugged.

"But there's got to be some other spirit..." he insisted.

She shook her head.

"It's not about North's belly again, is it?" Jack asked, "because last time, remember, it was because he had far too much eggnog." They both recalled that time. There was that possibility, but the lack of an Aurora Borealis nullified the possibility of that. Then he would have to act subtly.

Baby Tooth squeaked urgently.

"Alright, alright," he sighed. Looking back at the colony of penguins, he waved at them, as though they were his lifelong friends and then flew off, with Baby Tooth holding on to his shoulder.

Once he slowed down a little, flying straight ahead, she made the point of asking him about those penguins. She couldn't help but feel a little jealous of the attention he'd been giving the flightless avians. Jack chuckled. "That's a long story... any reason why you're asking?"

Baby Tooth refused to answer that question.


	9. Shadow (5)

**Shadow**

 **Chapter 5**

 _Dedicated to the readers who have gotten this far and have left some wonderful and incredibly encouraging reviews._

Also, warning: this chapter contains mentions of castration and some stronger language.

 **[January 28th, 2014]**

It was fairly obvious to any one of the feathered witnesses in Punjam Hy Loo, that Jack was still not a good flyer. At least, if his landing skills were anything to go by. After stumbling for quite a bit, Jack finally managed to regain his footing and was now caught up in finding the Tooth Fairy herself. Mini Tooth meanwhile let out a squeak of protest, her stomach definitely not appreciating the landing.

"Come on, it wasn't so bad? Was it?" Jack inquired with a chuckle when he saw her fly out of his pocket, in an almost drunk manner, complaining in muffled chirps about how she should have just flown here on her own.

The small fairy definitely seemed to think so.

Thankfully, they managed to spot Toothiana soon, buzzing about her massive palace, clearly looking distracted and nervous, as she constantly shifted her attentions amongst fairies, never really finishing an order before giving out another one. In her business she had not taken the time to look where she was flying, for she crashed into Jack minutes later, just as he was about to call to the wind and move over to her. "Oh, sorry about - Jack, you're here!" she exclaimed, her eyes widening slightly as her body hit his, but then calming down a little.

A small part of him wondered if it really had been something to do with Pitch. Apparently not, though.

"Hey, Tooth - anything new?" he asked, as he pulled back a little.

There was a faint redness to Toothiana's cheeks, probably out of embarrassment. "Well..." she hesitated, before reaching out to take his arm, deciding to show him instead. The male tensed for a bit, not expecting the sudden contact, but followed her willingly as she led him deeper into her castle.

Despite never being a huge fan of books - one tended not to be when they had never been taught how to read in the first place - he had to admit, Tooth's choice to take him to the library was a good one. Here they wouldn't be disturbed by half as many fairies, or anyone that was not a fairy. Only Baby Tooth was here besides the two of them and she could be trusted not to say anything. "So... what was this you were going to talk to me about?" he asked, as he looked around the room, his mouth gaping when he saw the tall shelves stacked full with various books. He could bet a large amount of these books had to do with teeth, or some other branch of biology. It was cool, even if he couldn't relate to her desire to hoard books. Then, he averted his gaze to Toothiana, who seemed to be fishing inside her mind for the best possible way to tell him whatever she was about to speak to him about.

"There is something I wanted to show you - I know you will probably not remember this, I did check your memories before seeking you out," she explained, with a sheepish smile, "I hope that you don't mind that I looked into your past..."

Jack frowned, but accepting that she was after all a Guardian of memories, he nodded. "No, that's fine," he respond, a twinge of curiosity and concern surfacing when he finally processed the part where she claimed he did not remember something. He had checked his memories after all. What else was there to know that had not been there before? Surely everything in his past was in that tiny box. As absurd as the idea might have once been to him, he didn't want to think that as soon as he accepted a set of rules, the rules suddenly changed. Having just walked out of one roller coaster ride, there was no chance he would want to go on another one for a good long time.

Tooth took out a container of teeth - one that clearly was not his, judging by the painted face on it. This past had belonged to a girl. Unfortunately, not his sister. He reached out to the box, tentatively. "So, what do I have to do with this girl?"

"Woman. She is a parent now. A grown up," the fairy clarified for him, before helping Jack open the human's memories. Of course, Jack, not really being connected to the human consciousness and subconsciousness in the way some other spirits were, could only really access his own memories. Still, once Tooth had helped him access it, Jack found himself being sucked into the history of another human being. Shock crossed his face, and even if he did not move in the present, the real world, his facial expression did change as it did when he stood in the memory realm.

'What the-?!'

His eyes widened when he realised that Jamie had never really been his first believer. Guilt kicked him in his stomach and chest. His breathing grew shallow. "I..."

* * *

School was finally over for the day.

As it was, her time with Shadow was not. He was currently walking by her side, clearly not concerned by the other people's ideas of him being Amity's cat. Perhaps it even was synonymous 'friend' for the inhuman male, what with his strange views of the world. She would not have been surprised if it was indeed.

"You know I am not allowed any animals inside my house, right...?" she inquired, seeing the black feline follow her proudly even as they neared her home. His tail and head held high, as if he owned the place. Well, at least one of them was confident about something. Anything.

She paused at her doorstep, convincing the cat to stop too, watching him settle down on the pavement. His ears flicked to the side, his tail twitched a little. Perhaps he had expected her to let her in. For now, though, he patiently waited for her invitation. Or perhaps it was because he could not reach the door handle in this form. Yes, that was the more likely opinion. She guessed that being a cat also did not come with his very creepy other abilities. The one thing she was certain of though, was that this was definitely shadow. He had the exact same eye colour, and was currently staring her down in anticipation.

Sighing, she assumed that he would stubbornly wait for her to invite him anyway. "Fine, but don't blame me if my mum kicks you out the house," the girl gave in, opening the door and stepping inside, followed by the cat.

Naturally, her former friend took the opportunity to explore the house, clearly showcasing that his new form was rubbing off on him, encouraging curiosity. Walking into the living room, he pounced on the couch, immediately claiming it as his as he lay his furry body on the soft seat. 'Great,' Amity thought to herself, already dreading her mother's reaction, 'now how am I going to get all that fur off the couch?' Shadow on the other hand didn't seem terribly concerned, as he swivelled his head around to look at the girl, appearing content. Perhaps it was because she was no longer pushing him away. At least, not as much. But if he thought he was getting treats for the stunt he pulled earlier he would definitely be wrong.

As it were, this was apparently the perfect time for her mother to walk downstairs, for she appeared in the living room just moments after Amity had settled on the couch beside Shadow. Unsurprisingly, she was not anywhere near pleased with the cat's presence. "What is a cat doing here...?" she asked, looking to Amity and the scrutinising the cat, looking at it more like it was the devil.

It was not even as though Sarah didn't like cats. She just... Wasn't a fan. Besides, this cat looked incredibly suspicious, even to Amity, for reasons she could not quite figure out. Feeling too comfortable to move from the couch, the uninvited guest simply let out a ''mrrrooww'', greeting the mother casually, with a lazy flick of the tail.

Well, at least one person in this house was taking this well.

"And why does it not have a collar?"

* * *

"This has to be wrong. There has to be a mistake!" Jack insisted, not about to believe that somehow, for some mysterious, moon-forsaken reason, he had forgotten about something of this magnitude. Taking a few hesitant steps back, the young spirit shook his head, even as Toothianna tried to reach out to him, to comfort him. Alas, all she could do was stand by and watch as the male backed away slowly as if suddenly she too had become a stranger to him.

Sometimes people had to help themselves before someone else could. In this instance, it was much the same. Before Toothianna could help him deal with the issue at hand, he had to accept that it was in fact an issue. That this all had in fact happened and that he had forgotten all of it.

"No. Sarah probably doesn't even exist any more," he continued to deny it all, making Toothianna wince. That girl did exist. The woman does exist. Not that Toothianna could convince someone who clearly did not want to be convinced. And so she turned away from him.

"Make of it what you will," she spoke softly. "If you doubt the teeth, that is your thing. Teeth rarely lie though, Jack, so remember that before you tell me again that those memories aren't real. I'll let you figure things out - I have work to do now." With that, she left him in the library, with Baby Tooth watching over the young Guardian. She did not expect any of this to be easy for Jack. After all, he had just become a Guardian and now he had to deal with something that was solely his responsibility.

The door behind Jack shut, leaving Jack to pace around the library, gritting his teeth in frustration and trying to figure out whose idea was it to mess with him so. Maybe it was even a prank set up by Bunny to get back at him for last time. 'Wouldn't that be amusing to the rabbit,' Jack thought miserably and he threw away the container, only for Baby Tooth to catch it just before he hit the ground, giving him a quick and loud scolding. The male dismissed her words, sitting down on a table, 'haha, I'm laughing Aster. Real funny prank you pulled there.' Not that the rabbit could hear his thoughts and certainly not all the way from Australia. Then again, Jack would gladly tell that to the kangaroo's face.

It was not the rabbit, unfortunately. Even Jack knew that Aster had little effect on a person's memories and had no abilities that would wipe out the contents of anything, much less a magical memory container. So he was back at square one and still confused.

Baby Tooth meanwhile still continued chirping, attempting to get Jack's attention. In vain too, as he reached out his hand and pushed her away, harder than he thought he could, having forgotten how small she was compared to his hand. Even the mini fairy was starting to get frustrated with the winter sprite, but he still did not seem to care, instead, looking down at his lap, frowning deeply. She made the attempt to tug at his sleeve, at his hood, but every time he would send her flying and she would only narrowly dodge a book shelf or a wall.

"No... no..." Jack murmured, still, emotions stabbing at him.

Never in 300 years had he felt this mortal again. He'd always thought of himself invincible, with perhaps the only exception to that being all the times he had been around Pitch. The boogeyman, he'd thought, was the only person who could ever really make him feel vulnerable, but even then it was never to this degree.

 _"Jack..."_

A small voice whispered to him and yet he pushed it out of his mind.

That was not real. None of this was real. He had never met this human, never had been friends with her and he certainly never kissed her. Or any human for that matter. He'd never even heard of such a thing. He tensed, pausing to think about it.

Still, maybe it had happened before. A relationship between a human and a Guardian.

Jack looked up, needing to find answers. Either this was all false and someone was messing with him and perhaps even messing with some poor human woman who had no idea of what her past was really like because of some bastard. Perhaps even Pitch was that bastard. He'd done terrible things before, so this wasn't exactly below him.

Or, if this was real, there had to be a reason why he had forgotten. There had to be more spirits than just him, whom this had happened to. After all, the Guardians had all lived much longer than him and all of them had been believed in for a very long time. Finally, he could see Baby Tooth before him. He couldn't see her anger, no, but at least he was no longer pushing her away. "You know how to read, Baby Tooth, right?" a twinge of desperation surfaced in his voice. She was after all the creation of someone who _clearly_ could read. After all, what illiterate person would bother building a library like this one?

The mini-fairy bobbed her head slowly her anger replaced by curiosity.

"Do you know if there's any books on magic... and you know, that sort of stuff?" he continued. Another nod. "So, maybe you can help me find if this memory is real or not, and how we could figure that out, or how we could figure out why I don't remember any of this...?"

Clearly, Baby Tooth did not understand his scepticism. Or his denial. She was fully convinced that the memories were right. Real. She was however willing to prove this much. She narrowed her eyes at him in determination and chirped, flitting off to find those books. All Jack could do, was watch and wait, hoping that this was just a mix up, a mistake. It would definitely be easier that way. He could deal with whatever joker was attempting to wreck havoc on Earth.

* * *

After a long and surprisingly tiring day, Pitch was ready to curl up on the couch and take a nice, long cat nap in the warmth and comfort of someone else's home. After all, he had spent all day running after Amity, as his cat legs were nowhere near as long as those of his spirit form. Besides, this place lacked nowhere near as much warmth as his own lair. In his cat form, that place would have been freezing and he was aware he would need to regenerate his energy in one way or another before he could shift back. One of the many drawbacks of having been defeated by Guardians.

So when the woman came in, clearly demanding of him to leave her house, he felt anything but obliged to follow through with her silent orders, instead taking things with a little bit of sass. As a cat, he thought he might just get away with it, but clearly, Sarah was not impressed.

'Collar?!' he thought, finding the very idea absurd. 'It?!' Yowling in offence, he looked to Amity to defend his dignity.

"I'm fairly sure he's a male, mum..." was all Amity managed.

'You're _fairly_ sure?!' What on earth did she mean by that? Was there any doubt that he was a male? Why -!

Sarah rolled her eyes, both at the cat and at her daughter, clearly not bothered whether the animal her daughter had brought in was a male, a female or a genderless legendary Pokemon who coincidentally looked suspiciously like a regular house cat. "Regardless, he does not have the right to be in this house. He is clearly a stray, with a coat filled with ticks, fleas and who knows what else." The woman walked up to Pitch, who backed away, watching her cautiously. His fur bristled a little.

'And you have no right to touch me, or call me flea-ridden, lady!'

Amity who was watching this exchange in silence, came up behind Pitch. "Well, then, maybe we could give him a home...?" she offered innocently, completely dismissing the whole issues with parasites lurking in cat fur, or the numerous issues any feline would bring to the house. His ears perked up. She had his attention now, certainly. After all, what was this quick change of heart about? She could not have considered them to be friends again... could she?

"Even if you were the one to take care of the veterinary fees for that," her mother's voice softened a little, though her eyes were still pinned on Pitch, "we don't even know he's litter-trained, or if he can behave whilst both of us are gone. Think about the damage a single cat can cause."

Behind him, Amity was clearly stifling a laugh, for darkness knows what reason. When her mother shifted her gaze to her daughter, however, she fell silent, possibly out of shame. "I promise I'll make sure he behaves himself," the girl insisted.

Tch. As if he needed someone to supervise his behaviour - he was perfectly good at behaving himself, thank you. Besides, what sort of person did Sarah think he was if she accused him of shredding perfectly good furniture and shitting on carpets and in flower patches? Even as a cat, he was a lot smarter than any of those brainless twits! He squirmed a little in discomfort just at the thought of acting like any ordinary feline. Still, he refused to budge from the couch. There was no way he could let a human chase him out of a house, any house.

However, the girl's attempts did seem to finally work, though only after she pulled him into her arms, holding him away from her mother. Pitch squirmed for a good while, trying to free himself from the embrace, but ceased when it seemed to have worked. He might as well play along if it meant getting his way.

"Alright..." Sarah sighed, her gaze softening too. "Though, he is definitely getting neutered if he isn't already. I don't want to have the owners of a dozen cats dump their kittens with us after this guy's had a stroll around the block," she added seriously, folding her arms in that no-nonsense manner.

Then and there, Pitch actually realised that maybe embraces weren't so bad when he shrunk back into Amity's arms in terror. There was no doubt that she could practically feel his body tremble at the very suggestion. His new "owner" laughed nervously. "I'm not sure he appreciates the idea..."

Not that it mattered, as Sarah wasn't letting that vet appointment go now. "And he'll be wearing a collar at all times."

Ordinarily Pitch might have even thought to himself, 'well, you win some, you lose some,' if it only regarded the collar. Maybe even grudgingly accepted it as some sort of wacky emo necklace to wear around his neck, that would itch a little, but otherwise, not cause all that many problems. Perhaps it would hurt his pride a little, but... hey. However, getting any part of him surgically removed?! The thought angered him as much as it terrified him. Despite Pitch's excellent regenerative powers, he doubted some things could even be regenerated to such a degree, and besides, did that woman even know how painful it would probably be?

"We can work with the collar," Amity murmured, having sensed his own fear. "Can't we?" she asked, directing the question to the cat himself, effectively snapping him out of his thoughts.

Though Pitch did not say anything, still traumatised, Sarah took his response as a yes.

"Alright, welcome to the family..."

"Shadow," Amity supplied her mother, "his name will be Shadow."

Sarah frowned, clearly curious about the choice of name, but decided to go with it. Secretly though, she was wondering why her daughter hadn't instead named her first cat Spot, or Captain Fluff, or Blackie... or just any other name that sounded more like a pet name. Even just Tom would do. "Sure." She shrugged. "Dinner's at six, by the way." With that, the woman walked off into the kitchen, leaving the cat and the younger human standing there, one still in his own little world and the other confused.

"I really didn't think I'd get away with that..."

'Well, you are certainly not getting away with that vet appointment.' The girl was lucky that he had decided on sticking around for more reasons than a couch, otherwise he would have darted out this house as soon as her mother had mentioned castration.

* * *

 **Right, so I moved this story here instead. Might as well.**

 **Also, I will not change Jack to literate just because some people think that America was ahead of everyone else in literacy because of a few vague articles that link to more vague articles and references which I cannot get access to. So he will remain illiterate, being born and raised somewhere in the very early 1700s, and having not a care in the world about education, or even about shoes. His father is not present and he would have probably had other responsibilities. Plus, he doesn't need to be good at everything.**

 **I am fully aware that he lived in Burgess Pennsylvania, that does not mean he necessarily had access to education.**


End file.
